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Page 7. 





JIM BENTLEY’S RESOLVE. 


BY 

LYDIA L , . ROUSE, 

AUTHOR OF “ SANDY’S FAITH.” 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 



COPYRIGHT, 1882, 


BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 

Co 


Preface: 


IT has been the author’s object, in writing 
this story, to recommend two things highly 
essential to happiness even in this life, and in- 
dispensable as regards the life to come, namely: 
temperance and religion. It has been her inten- 
tion to show that they give character and worth 
to the ignorant as well as the learned, and to 
prove that without them life is a failure in any 
circumstances. She has had another object in 
view also, which is to do something to refute 
the terrible delusion of most bad men — that they 
will in some way, even against their will, by 
some strange, transforming process, be saved at 
last. True, outrageous sinners may be saved, 
and at the eleventh hour, but not without sin- 
cere contrition for past offences, and faith in 
Him whose blood alone has power to blot out 
sin. And how many die without giving any 
satisfactory evidence of either ! 

That the little book may accomplish some 1 
good, is the ardent wish of 


THE AUTHOR. 



JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


CHAPTER I. 

In a small wood-colored house on the 
outskirts of a village in Northern New York 
lived a family named Bentley. This family 
consisted of father, mother, a son of fifteen 
years, and a little daughter of five. At the 
time when our story commences a thick 
gloom enveloped the household. For many 
years a shadow had been deepening over the 
once sunny home. From being a moderate 
drinker, the husband and father had gradu- 
ally become a confirmed inebriate. Poverty, 
like an armed man, had entered the house 
and taken possession of it. Bentley was now 
on his deathbed. Prematurely old, his vital- 


6 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

ity sapped by his excesses, his mind gnawed 
by remorse, he was already suffering the* pen- 
alty of his transgressions. He knew his end 
was near; he saw no hope for himself; but 
for those belonging to him, who had not par- 
taken of his sin and folly, he predicted a 
brighter future. 

Mrs. Bentley was a woman of much re- 
finement and of fervent piety. She trained 
her children in the fear of the Lord, and 
constantly committed them to his keeping, 
earnestly praying that they might not be 
overcome by temptation. She had vainly 
striven against the demon of intemperance 
that had invaded her peaceful home, and 
now, when her husband was helpless and 
hopeless, she ministered to his wants with 
the utmost patience and tenderness. 

One morning, as Mrs. Bentley was en- 
gaged in her accustomed duties, she observed 
that her husband was gazing intently at her; 
finally he spoke. 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


7 


“ Sarah, some good will yet come to you. 
It cannot be otherwise. Your God is a just 
God, and his justice will not let you suffer 
always on account of my sin. I shall pass 
away ; then you will not be drawn downwards 
contrary to your inclinations.” 

He ceased speaking. The pale, tearful 
face of his wife turned towards him, while her 
fingers mechanically curled the fair hair of 
their little Ella. She tried to speak, but her 
utterance was choked. These unexpected 
remarks of her husband had struck a chord 
whose vibrations reached her inmost heart. 
For years he had manifested but little tender- 
ness in his words or actions; for intemper- 
ance destroys all the finer nature of a man, 
and leaves but a withered, degraded wreck of 
his former self. 

“ Can this be an indication of a healthier 
tone of mind, or remaining kindness of 
heart ?” thought Mrs. Bentley. 

“ Where is Jim?” he at length asked. 


8 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

“ He went out this morning to look for 
work,” she replied. 

“ What work does the boy expect to 
find?” 

“ I don’t know. He seemed full of confix 
dence and courage, and said that God would 
help him to find employment, if only for my 
sake.” 

“ There it is. I suppose little Ella there 
knows that all the good must be expected 
through you, while all the evil and misery 
have been brought by me. Sissy, father has 
been a bad, naughty man, has n’t he ?” 

“I don’t know; I don’t think so,” the 
child answered in a frightened way. “ 1 
know who is a naughty man,” she said, 
brightening; “that old tavern man. Any 
way, I do n’t like him ; ’cause Katy Roberts 
said to me the other day when he went past, 
‘ There goes the man that ’s got all your 
father’s money.’ Did he get into our house 
and steal our money before I could remem- 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 9 

ber? I never saw much money here, only 
pennies.” 

“ Hush,, little one,” said the mother. 

Bentley groaned, drew the bedclothes over 
his face, and was silent for a long time. 
When he removed the covering there was a 
look of mingled grief and revenge on his 
countenance. 

“Send for Turner,” said he; “I want to 
curse him before I die.” 

“ O John, do n’t ! You must not get into 
a passion and waste your strength so. Per- 
haps you will yet get better and undo all the 
wrong you have done.” 

“ Undo all the wrong I ’ve done! Then 
I must needs bring the dead back to life, 
since the scarlet-fever robbed you' of your 
children because they were John Bentley’s; 
for the doctor, thinking he would get no pay, 
or that they would be better out of the world, 
neglected them, and Jim only got through 
with the skin of his teeth. I remember, 


I O JIM BENTLE YE RE SOL VE. 

Sarah. I was sober at that time; but I was 
powerless in the meshes I had drawn around 
myself; and while you were yet weak and 
worn with watching, and suffering from the 
bereavement still so fresh, little Ella came to 
us ; and I, wretch that I was, left you to be 
cared for by strangers. God bless Priscilla 
Slocum for the care she gave you, if such a 
poor wretch’s prayers get higher than his 
head. Undo all I have done! when you at 
thirty-five look more like fifty ; when I have 
made my son almost hate me ; when every 
article worth taking has been dragged away 
and sold, and nothing is left but a few pieces 
of broken furniture ! Do n’t you think I ’ve 
had to see and feel since I ’ve been lying 
here? No, I can never undo the wrong I 
have done ; but let me have the satisfaction 
of cursing Turner. I must curse him to his 
face. I shall burst if I cannot.” 

The wife went to the bedside and placed 
her hand on her husband’s forehead, where 


JIM BENTLE Y' S RESOL VE. 1 1 

the great blue veins stood out almost to 
bursting. 

“John, you must not; you must try to 
compose yourself — for my sake.” 

“ For your sake F he replied bitterly. “ I 
have done so much for your sake!” 

His wife burst into tears. Little Ella 
clung to her mother’s dress and wept for 
sympathy. 

“Must Turner then go uncursed?” he 
said presently, in a more subdued tone. 

“ He cannot,” his wife found voice to say, 
“ for God has pronounced a curse on him 
who putteth the bottle to his neighbor’s 
lips.” 

“Well, then,” he said, “Turner is in for 
it ; let him go.” 

“ John,” she said, “do you think it is well 
to nurse your anger, even towards him ?” 

“ Perhaps not,” he replied, after a short 
pause, “ for if I had not been a fool, an infer- 
nal fool, he could not have trapped me.” 


1 2 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

“No one is strong in his own strength, 
John, and therefore we should shun tempta- 
tion” 

“Yes; I remember that with the forbear- 
ance of a saint you often told me that, before 
I had got so far off the track; and much 
thanks you got for your trouble. When I 
contrast your looks this morning with what 
they were sixteen years ago, I am almost 
crazed. Well, if you will not let me send for 
Turner, I will do something very different. 
I will see if I cannot do one good deed yet: 
I will send for some of my neighbors who 
are going the same way I went, and warn 
them. I may prevent some misery in other 
homes.” 

“ Well, it will be unpleasant for me,” she 
said, “ and too much for your strength, I fear ; 
but if you feel it to be your duty, I will not 
object.” 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


13 


CHAPTER II. 

Time passes even in the abodes of wretch- 
edness, and the long day finally closed. As 
the sun disappeared a buoyant step was heard, 
and Jim Bentley sprang in, his face glowing 
with satisfaction. 

“ Did n’t I tell you, mother !” he exclaimed. 

“ What is it, my son ?” 

“ I told you I should be prospered to-day, 
and I have been. What do you suppose I 
found ? A dollar-bill right in the road before 
me ! It was all crumpled up, and I did not 
not know what it was ; but something made 
me look at it; perhaps it was Providence,” 
he added in a low tone. 

“ How did it look ?” asked Ella. 

“ Here it is ; see for yourself,” said he, 
drawing it from his pocket. “ When you 
have seen it, hand it to mother. Now, Puss, 


14 


JIM BENTLEY’S RE SOL VE. 


do n’t interrupt me again ; I want to go on 
with my story. Well, I took it over to Dea- 
con Slocum’s, for I did n’t know that it would 
be right for me to keep it.” 

This Deacon Slocum was, by the way, a 
very excellent man, and much esteemed by 
all who knew him. Actively pious, he was 
always ready to extend a helping hand to all 
who stood in need. His educational advan- 
tages, so far as books were concerned, had 
been small, and his manner of speaking 
showed him to be a Yankee of the old stamp; 
but in the school of life and grace he had 
been no dull scholar, and his conversation 
was sensible and wholesome. Mrs. Slocum 
was so much like her husband in many re- 
spects, that one often seemed an echo of the 
other. They had one daughter, thirteen 
years old, a fine-looking, sweet-tempered 
child, and a great comfort to her parents. 
They lived in harmony, possessing both the 
will and the means to do good. 


JIM BENTLE Y f S RESOL VE. 1 5 

So it was not strange that Jim went to 
the deacon for advice. He told him that he 
was seeking employment, and mentioned that 
he had found a dollar, stating his scruples 
about keeping it. 

“Keep it? Yes, keep it,” said the dea- 
con. “ One bill lying in the road so, it ’s no 
ways likely you ’d find the right owner. Half 
a dozen might claim it if you said anything 
about it, and I guess nobody needs it more ’n 
you do.” 

“ Do you think I can buy an axe with a 
dollar?” asked Jim. 

“ See here now ; I ’ve got through clear- 
ing up that timbered land, and I do n’t want 
so many axes. S’pose you take one of mine. 
I ’ve got a first-rate axe I ’ll let you have ; it 
has n’t been used much, either.” 

“Would you sell it for a dollar?” asked 
Jim. 

“ La!” said he, “ I do n’t want your money. 
Take the axe and welcome, Jim. Did you 


1 6 JIM BENTLE MS RE SOL VE. 

think of chopping more ’n you have to do at 
home ?” 

“Yes; I would like to chop for some of 
the neighbors, if I could get a chance.” 

“ Then you need n’t go any farther, for 
I ’ve got all my summer’s wood to chop, and 
the spring work coming on. If you want a 
job I can give you one. What do you say 
to it?” 

“ I will take it, and be glad to get it,” said 
Jim ; and he went to work. 

When night came the deacon brought 
three shillings to Jim, saying, “Maybe it’s a 
little more than it ’s worth ; you chop like a 
beginner ; but you ’ve got the right stuff in 
you, and it ’ll all be right by-and-by. Every 
day you ’ll fetch up a little, and you’ll soon 
do a good day’s work. Now take these fresh 
eggs to your mother. I ’d like to give you 
as many every night, you look kind o’ puny ; 
I guess you grow too fast ; but Priscilla uses 
a terrible sight of eggs, a terrible sight.” 


JIM BENTLE YE RESOL VE. 


*7 

Jim related the day’s experience, mimick- 
ing the tone and manner of the deacon. 

“Jim, my boy,” said his father. 

“ Well, sir,” said Jim. 

“ Come here and look me in the face, for 
I want to tell you something you must never 
forget. Do not mimic people. I was always 
in demand with the wrong class, on account 
of my power of mimicry. You know the 
rest. It had much to do with my ruin.” 

“ Well, then, father, I solemnly promise to 
drop it. I have resolved never to follow any 
bad example, but to shun everything that 
will unfit me to support my mother.” 

“ That is good talk, boy ; but the strength 
of Another is what you need. Your mother 
will tell you about that; such words don’t 
come well from me. There is one thing I 
want you to do. I am anxious to warn those 
men you have seen me with so often. I want 
you to go and ask all of them to come 
here.” 


18 JIM BENTLE Y*S RESOL VE. 

Seeing the boy hesitate, he added in a 
pleading tone, “Tell them to-night, Jimmy, 
for my time is short.” 

“ All right,” said the boy, and he hurried 
out, his eyes filling with tears, for to the 
young heart the near approach of death in 
any form is terrible. 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOL YE. 


*9 


CHAPTER III. 

After an hour Jim returned and reported 
that they would all come. 

“Will they?” said the father; “I feared 
they would not.” 

“ They would not promise at first,” said 
Jim. “ They laughed, and wanted to know if 
you had turned preacher.” 

He had scarcely ceased speaking when 
there was an irregular, uncertain knock at 
the door. Jim opened it. Higgins, the ring- 
leader of the set, entered, followed by the 
others. Bentley extended his hand, which 
each one took in turn. Jim offered the three 
chairs, which were but half enough for the 
visitors. Three seated themselves, and the 
other three leaned against the wall, folded 
their arms, and looked hard at the sick man, 
not knowing what to think or say. Mrs. Bent- 


20 


JIM B BATTLE V’S RE SOL VE. 


ley and Ella withdrew to a room still more 
comfortless. Higgins, gaining confidence by 
Bentley’s seeming embarrassment, began : 

“ Well, Bentley, I thought you wanted to 
preach to us. Why do n’t you begin ? 
Where is your sermon ?” ' 

“ Look around and read my sermon. 
Look at everything.” 

One of the men laughed a coarse laugh 
and said, “ There ’s precious little to look at.” 

“ That is it precisely,” said Bentley. “ How 
many of you remember when I settled here 
sixteen years ago?” 

“ I do,” and “ I do,” came from one and 
another until nearly every one answered in 
the affirmative. 

“ Then let Change be the text.” 

“Yes; there is change, and too much of 
it,” said Chester Crawford, the best-hearted 
man of them all. “ And, for one, this warn- 
ing shall not be lost on me. I caught sight 
of Mrs. Bentley as she left the room, and she 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 2 1 

is but the shadow of her former self. I re- 
member her when there was not a likelier- 
looking lady to be found. I remember, too, 
when no cottage had a prettier look than this 
one ; and that is not all I remember ; I re- 
member when I had a more comfortable home 
myself — and I wish old Turner joy with all 
the money he gets from me after this.” 

“ But,” said Higgins, “ I want to hear 
what Bentley has to say.” 

“ Well,” said Bentley, “ I would like you, 
my misguided friends, to escape some of the 
misery I now feel. I would like you to stop 
in your course, so that when you come to your 
last sickness you will have a few pleasant 
years to look back upon. I do not want any 
one of you to be eaten with remorse as I am ; 
to remember that he has been a source of 
terror to every member of his family, through 
the violence he has used towards them ; that 
he has pawned every article of furniture, even 
his wife’s heirlooms; that he has stripped the 


2 2 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

curtains from the windows and the blankets 
from his children’s beds ; that he has stolen 
his wife’s clothing, even when furnished by 
her relatives, and the wedding dress had not 
enough of sacredness to exempt it from the 
fate of whatever was found salable.” 

“ Bentley, stop,” said Crawford. “ Hig- 
gins, you ought not to have drawn him out 
so. You will have him dying on our hands 
while we stand here.” 

For Bentley had been so exercised all day 
that he had little strength left, and his efforts 
to reform his companions by the rehearsal of 
his own shame and degradation soon ex- 
hausted him. Jim, who had withdrawn into 
the farthest corner of the room, where his 
tears could flow unobserved, now came for- 
ward, alarmed at the remark of Crawford. 

“Jim, my boy, forgive your father,” whis- 
pered the unhappy man. 

“Yes, O yes,” said the boy, seizing the 
long, thin hand and carrying it to his lips, in 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


23 


his earnestness to manifest his forgiveness, 
while tears rained from his eyes. 

That was too much for Crawford; he 
wept too ; and in a little while scarcely a dry 
eye was in the room. 

“ Ah, my boy,” said the father, “ that hand 
you kissed has dealt you many an undeserved 
blow.” 

“ Never mind that now,” sobbed the boy. 

“ If I could only be as sure of God’s for- 
giveness,” said Bentley, turning to his com- 
panions ; “ but that I do not hope for.” 

“ Father,” faltered the boy, “ God is kinder 
than I am.” 

“ Ah ! my son, he is wiser than to let his 
laws be broken with impunity, and juster than 
to forgive one who has sinned long years a- 
gainst light and knowledge, against a wife’s 
prayers and entreaties, and, above all, has 
looked lightly on the offers of mercy through 
his divine Son.” 

Just here Mrs. Bentley appeared, and 


24 JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 

quickly observing the effect of the prolonged 
interview upon her husband, she said in a 
tremulous voice, “ Gentlemen, had you not 
better leave us ? I fear this excitement will 
prove an injury to my husband.” 

“Yes, let them go, now that I know they 
can still weep at the misery of a drunkard’s 
family,” said Bentley. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


25 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ Now, not a man of us for the tavern to- 
night,” said one of the number as soon as 
they were out of hearing. 

“ Who made you spokesman for us all ?” 
said Higgins. 

“ Well,” remarked a third, “ if any one of 
us goes there to-night, after what we have 
seen and heard, the devil will be sure enough 
of him.” 

“ Say, Crawford, are you going to stick 
to what you said at Bentley’s ?” asked a 
fourth. 

“ Of course he wont,” said Higgins. 

“ Of course he will said Crawford, turn- 
ing in the direction of his own home, as every 
man of them did but Higgins. 

Crawford reached home before his wife 
retired. She was in the habit of working 
4 


26 JIM BE NILE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

late at night. Her slender means added to 
her daily labor the nightly task of mending 
and making over clothing for her family. 

Crawford had married later in life than 
Bentley, and his wife was much younger than 
himself. But traces of care and disappoint- 
ment were but too apparent on her sunken 
face. She was experiencing what Mrs. Bent- 
ley had passed through years before — when 
hope, beset with many a fear, still struggled 
for a place in her bosom. Many a time, 
when Mrs. Crawford had worked far into the 
night, did she stay her busy fingers and lis- 
ten for the wished-for, yet dreaded foot- 
steps, while the throbbing of her poor, torn 
heart was all she heard; or she rose and, 
with noiseless tread, lest she should be star- 
tled at the sound of her own footfall, went to 
the door and vainly peered into the dark- 
ness, then turned to look at her sleeping 
little ones, and sitting down again wept her- 
self into calmness. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


27 


Ah ! they who are merry over the wine- 
cup little think what aching hearts are wait- 
ing for them at their homes ; little do they 
realize how sad their case is when love can 
no longer win back their straying feet ; when 
a tap on the shoulder, with a “ Come along,” 
from a companion in sin, is more persuasive 
than the tears and entreaties of a wife. 

Somewhat earlier than usual, Crawford 
entered his own door and stood before his 
wife. She looked up with a quiet, searching 
glance, expecting the old state of things; 
but he stood before her with such a pitying 
look on his sober face that she uttered a cry 
of joy and threw herself into his arms. 

“ Poor little Nellie,” he said, trying to 
smooth out the lines of care too early 
stamped on her forehead ; “ what an abused 
little woman it is.” 

Then, like a child that is hurt, but does 
not cry until pitied, she burst into tears. He 
drew her to a seat, saying, “ There, stop cry- 


23 JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 

ing, like a brave little body as you are, and 
I will tell you something. I have seen Bent- 
ley.” 

“ Well ?” 

“ Well, he is about to fill a drunkard’s 
grave.” 

“ That is not strange.” 

“ No,” he replied with a shudder. “You 
mean,” he continued, “ that it is but the nat- 
ural ending to the course he has been pursu- 
ing.” 

She bowed assent, and he continued. 

“ I tremble to think where I have been 
standing; Bentley has just shown me where 
it was.” 

“ Have you been with him ?” 

“ Been at his house. He sent for me and 
some others.” 

“ How came he to send for you?” 

“ Oh, you do n’t know all ; nor need you, 
now. Bentley was a waggish, jolly fellow, 
and on that account he often got in with 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 29 

those not so far on the road to ruin as him- 
self, notwithstanding his tatters. He never 
kept an article of clothing that could procure 
him the liquor he craved. Well, he sent for 
us, and called our attention to the change in 
himself and in his home ; and he has opened 
the eyes of at least one man, for I call God 
to witness that not another drop of the dan- 
gerous stuff that has wrought so much ruin 
shall ever pass my lips.” 

“ God help you, Chester,” said his wife 
fervently. 


3 ° 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


CHAPTER V. 

The morning found Bentley much worse. 
Jim went over to Deacon Slocum’s to tell him 
that, on account of his father’s condition, he 
could not work that day. 

“ Priscilla,” said the deacon to his wife, 
“ you just go over there and see if you can ’t 
do something for them.” 

Jim turned to go home. 

“Wait for me, Jim,” said Mrs. Slocum. 
“ It wont take me more ’n three minutes to 
get ready.” 

Presently she came from the pantry, 
bringing a large basket, which she set down 
by the door ; then she took off her apron, 
and, putting on a shawl and a stiffly starched 
sun-bonnet, she gave Jim the basket, saying, 
“ Carry this for me, wont you ?” 

Jim was embarrassed, and looked as if he 


JIM BENTLE YE RE SOL VE. 3 1 

wanted to object ; for thus far his own earn- 
ings and a small stated allowance secretly 
remitted by his uncle had kept the family 
from eating the bread of charity. Jim had 
been intrusted with this secret for a long 
time ; but little Ella saw only the pennies, 
lest her busy little tongue should in some 
way make the fact known to her father. 

“Your ma’s got no time to bake when 
your pa is so poorly,” said Mrs. Slocum, com- 
prehending Jim’s look. 

Thus reassured, Jim took up the basket, 
and the two soon reached the abode of the 
Bentleys. 

That Bentley’s end was near was at once 
apparent to the practised eye of Priscilla Slo- 
cum. He was asleep, but the shadow of 
death was on his face. Mrs. Slocum said 
nothing beyond a whispered greeting, but 
quietly took the basket into the pantry. 
Mrs. Bentley followed her. 

“ His time is short, is it not?” she asked. 


32 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


“ I think so,” replied Mrs. Slocum. 

Mrs. Bentley became still paler, and caught 
at the door for support. 

“ See here, Mrs. Bentley,” whispered Mrs. 
Slocum, “you go and sit right down. You 
look as if you had n’t slept a wink all last 
night.” 

“ I did not, nor have I slept much for sev- 
eral nights.” 

“ Well, you just sit right down, and let 
me take hold of the work.” 

“ Thank you, but there is not much to be 
done ; and if there were, there is nothing to 
do it with. You would not know how to take 
hold of work in my house.” 

“ Well, I ’ll just slip away a little while, 
and be right back.” 

Mrs. Bentley looked distressed. Her 
neighbor, understanding the cause, added, 
“ There wont be any change before night, I 
reckon.” 

Home went Mrs. Slocum, faster than she 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 33 

had come, for she was on an errand of love 
and mercy. On reaching home she went im- 
mediately to the back door and called, “Jon- 
athan! Jonathan!” 

“ Well,” said the deacon as he made his 
appearance at the barn door. 

“ Will you harness up old Pete to the 
long-boxed wagon ? I want to use him.” 

“ Well.” 

In due time old Pete stood before the 
door. 

“Come in, Jonathan,” called out his wife. 

Jonathan carefully wiped his boots on the 
husk mat and came in. 

“ Well ?” This was his almost unvarying 
answer to his wife’s calls and propositions. 

“ See here, Jonathan, we ’ve got more 
chairs than we need. Now I ’d like to take 
an easy chair to that poor creature that ’s 
more dead than alive with sorrow and care. 
Then I want to take three of those kitchen 
chairs; there always was too many of ’em in 
5 


34 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


there. And I want to take a pair of pillows. 
Seems to me, that man ’s lying on pillows 
stuffed with straw. Of course, he ’s been the 
cause of it if it is so ; but nobody can feel 
hard toward a dying man. I stood there 
looking at that man’s bed ; the quilt is all to 
pieces; and I got to thinking how nice my new 
goose-chase quilt would look on that bed, in- 
stead of that tattered one. But I thought, 
‘ I ’ve just got it done.’ ‘ Never mind,’ whis- 
pered a voice in my heart. ‘ Inasmuch as you 
have done it’ — you know the rest of it, Jona- 
than ; so I came right along home to get it. 
And Jonathan, I believe I ’ll take that Bos- 
ton rocker I ’ve just cushioned, for I ’d feel 
stingy to offer the other if its just the same 
as giving it to Him, you see. Then I ’ll pick 
up some little things I know we wont miss, 
and they ’ll be doing good over there. And 
then you just drive me over ’cross lots, be- 
cause I do n’t want anybody peeking into 
what I ’111 doing. They might think I was 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


35 


doing a terrible sight, and ’t is n’t half enough, 
according to the way I read the Bible. Jon- 
athan, I s’pose you ought to pray with him ; 
he ’s got a soul the same as anybody.” 

Still talking and bustling about, she gath- 
ered articles enough to make quite a load, 
while her husband carried them to the 
wagon ; and, all things being ready, the dea- 
con took up the lines and started. 

“ Stop, stop a minute. Martha,” Mrs. 
Slocum called to her daughter, “you get 
those curtains you ironed yesterday. I ’ll get 
you some longer ones.” 

While Martha was looking up the cur- 
tains, her mother remarked, “ Maybe that ’s 
giving what we do n’t value much. I s’pose 
the right way to give is to give till you feel it 
a little. But Martha ought to have the new 
ones, too, for she ’s a good girl and works 
hard. She says other folks have ’em come 
clear down to the floor. That ’s right, Mar- 
tha,” taking the curtains from her hand. 


36 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

“ Now, get the dinner as well as you can. 
See that the potatoes do n’t boil to pieces, 
and do n’t fry your eggs too hard.” 

“ Get along, Pete,” said the deacon, and 
away the kind couple went as fast as the un- 
settled roads would permit. 

They found Bentley sleeping still, and no 
perceptible change in him. No one thought 
best to arouse him, so the deacon spoke some 
comforting words to the wife, then set down 
the things he had brought, and turned his 
horse’s head toward home. 

“Jim,” said Mrs. Slocum, “help me in 
with these things.” The rocker she took in 
herself, patted the neat cushion, and motioned 
to Mrs. Bentley to sit in it. 

This unlooked-for kindness started the 
tears in Mrs. Bentley’s eyes. “ I have n’t 
had such a chair for ten years,” said she, as 
she sank into it. 

Mrs. Slocum arranged the other things 
she had brought, and did it so quietly that 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 


37 


Mrs. Bentley, in her weariness and drowsi- 
ness, did not notice the changes which were 
taking place around her. 

“ Now, move that way a little,” said Mrs. 
Slocum, “ and I ’ll spread down this piece of 
carpet. It ’ll make the room look more 
cheerful.” And she nearly covered the bare 
floor with some partially worn, but whole and 
clean carpeting. 

“ You put this quilt and these pillows on 
the bed by-and-by,” said Mrs. Slocum gently, 
after she had placed all the other things. 
She had made a wonderful change in that 
abode of poverty. White curtains hung at 
both windows ; whole chairs had taken the 
places of broken ones ; the rough pine table 
had been covered with a cloth ; on the table 
stood a basket of quaint mulberry crockery ; 
and all these things, together with the car- 
pet and the neat bed-quilt, gave the place 
an air of comfort. Then the presence of a 
friend so strong and good as Priscilla Slo- 


38 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

cum took away something from the great 
trouble that seemed crushing the heart of the 
suffering woman. 

Mrs. Bentley’s eyes filled with tears, and 
it was with difficulty that she could express 
her gratitude. She felt how precious even 
human sympathy is in times of dark- 
ness. 

“ Mrs. Slocum, you have the joy of being 
able to do good,” she found voice to say.. 

As dinner was being prepared, Crawford 
entered, followed by his family physician. 
They went together to the bedside. 

“No use, Crawford,” said the doctor in 
an undertone. Then turning to Mrs. Bent- 
ley, he said, “ Madam, do you know that your 
husband is past help ?” 

She bowed affirmatively. 

“ But for yourself,” he continued, “ some- 
thing should be done. You are not really ill, 
but you are greatly overtasked, and may 
easily become ill. If you will allow me to 


JIM BENTLEY’S RESOLVE. 


39 


prescribe for you, I may help you to gain 
strength to meet what is before you.” 

“ Thank you,” replied she. “ Prescribe for 
me if you think it necessary.” 

“ I should like to speak with Bentley,” 
said Crawford. 

“ Better not,” said the doctor. “ He is 
resting now. His mental excitement has ex- 
hausted the little strength he had.” 

So they took leave without disturbing the 
sleeper. 

After dinner was over, and all were 
quietly seated in the now comfortable room, 
the sick man awoke. With perfect con- 
sciousness he looked around on all present. 
Then, with an effort, he beckoned his wife 
to approach. 

“What is it, John?” she said when she 
had reached the bedside. 

“ Water.” 

Tenderly she raised his head, and gave 
him water. She smoothed his pillow, and 


40 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


laid him gently down again. He turned his 
eyes full on his wife, and with feeble voice 
said, “Sarah, I am going, and without hope. 
But you have done your duty. What was 
that Scripture text about sentence against 
an evil work, that you quoted to me once ? 
I want the minister to take that for his text 
when I am carried to the church ; and I 
want those six men chosen bearers, so that 
they will hear that sermon. Do n’t forget.” 

“ I will not forget.” 

Little Ella came to the bedside, saying, 
“ I ’ve been a good girl, papa, and kept still 
all the morning, so you could sleep.” 

“ Did you, dear ?” 

“ Oh, Jim, papa called me dear.” 

“ Is this the first time ?” 

“ I do n’t know. I guess so.” 

Then seeing that her father was troubled, 
she said, “ I guess you would n’t feel bad if you 
could see what a pretty quilt you ’ve got on your 
bed, and how many nice things we have.” 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


4i 


So she prattled on, every word going like 
an arrow to her father’s heart ; for he re- 
membered pretty quilts and spreads and win- 
dow-curtains, if she did not. 

“ Do n’t talk to papa any more now,” said 
the mother, and she gently drew the child to 
herself, and held her in a close embrace. 

Bentley turned his eyes to Mrs. Slocum. 
“ Oh, I see,” said he, as he comprehended 
who had brought the comforts ; “ I thank you, 
Mrs. Slocum, for all you have done for my 
family.” 

Mrs. Slocum asked if he had any 
pain. 

“ Only in my mind,” he answered. “ I 
am soon to appear before that God whom 
you and my wife have served so long and 
faithfully. But I shall not have on the wed- 
ding-garment. I shall be cast into outer 
darkness.” 

“ Can ’t you look to the Saviour, Mr. 
Bentley ?” asked Mrs. Slocum. “ God’s mer- 


A 2 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOL YE. 

cy is great. He ‘loved us, and sent his Son 
to be the propitiation for our sins.’ ” 

“ I have sinned away my day of grace,” 
said the dying man. 

“ I want to see my boy,” he said, after a 
pause. 

Jim came and stood before him. 

“ Worship God in sincerity and truth, my 
son, and remember him in every act of your 
life. Imitate your mother, and think of me 
only to shun my sins. I need not give the 
care of your mother and sister into your 
charge, for that duty you have long since ta- 
ken upon yourself, even when it belonged to 
another. Good-by, my children. Life will 
be better and brighter for you now. I shall 
no longer drag you downward. Good-by, 
my poor, abused wife. May God make you 
forget the misery I have caused you ; and 
even here may you have many years of com- 
fort. Good-by, Mrs. Slocum. Your labor 
of love will be rewarded in another world if 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 43 

not in this. Now let me rest a little. There 
will be no rest where I am going.” 

He closed his eyes, and soon fell into a 
quiet sleep. Just as the sun’s last rays fell 
upon the spring-awakened earth, he ceased 
to breathe. 


44 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOLVE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

The needful preparations for Bentley’s 
funeral were made by kindly neighbors ; for 
in that simple country town no professional 
undertaker had yet established himself. Dea- 
con Slocum and Mr. Crawford were particu- 
larly active, and relieved Mrs. Bentley of all 
anxiety as to ways and means. The circle 
of mourners was small, consisting of only 
three, the wife and children of the dead man. 
Mr. Brown, Mrs. Bentley’s brother, had been 
sent for, but he could not be with his sister 
until a week later. Bentley had no near rel- 
atives ; and distant ones are not desirous of 
claiming relationship with one who is poor 
and disgraced. Mrs. Bentley felt, more than 
ever before, that she was cut off from all nat- 
ural sympathy and friendship. 

The funeral service was impressive. The 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


45 


text startled many an evil-doer as it was read 
from Ecclesiastes 8 : 1 1. “ Because sentence 

against an evil work is not executed speedily, 
therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully 
set in them to do evil.” The sermon was to 
the living. The dead was scarcely referred 
to ; and Mrs. Bentley was spared the pain of 
any personal allusion. Tears of sincere sor- 
row fell from her eyes as the grave closed 
over him to whom, in the flush of youth and 
beauty, she had confided her happiness. 
The John Bentley of other days came before 
her ; and she felt that hers had been a bitter lot. 
She could not look forward to a blessed re- 
union, for though her husband had painfully 
realized the wickedness and folly of his 
course, and the magnitude of his sin against 
his wife and children, his heart had seemed 
deaf to God’s offers of mercy, which she had 
tenderly urged upon him and pleaded for 
him, and capable of hearing only the threat- 
enings of His just anger against the workers 


46 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

of iniquity. And without faith in Christ, 
how could the sinner be cleansed from his 
sin? Sadly Mrs. Bentley turned from the 
grave, with tender memories in her heart 
which for the time silenced recollections of 
neglect and injury and deepened the anguish 
of some terrible apprehensions. 

The evening after the funeral, Deacon 
Slocum and his wife sat down to talk over 
the events of the past few days. 

“ I am so glad we thought of taking over 
those things,” said Mrs. Slocum. “ It really 
looks comfortable there now, does n’t it ?” 

“Well, it does, Priscilla, that’s a fact; 
and we are none the worse off for it, either.” 

“ Jonathan, I suspect we ’re better for it. 
You always say that what we give in a good 
cause, and with the right motives, will be a 
comfort to us for ever.” 

“ So it will, Priscilla, while hoarded wealth 
will count against us, for in such a case we ’d 
be unprofitable servants.” 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


47 


“ I believe we have not done enough yet,” 
said good Mrs. Slocum. “ That poor crea- 
ture is n’t comfortable enough yet. I believe 
I ’ll invite her over here, and I ’ll do a little 
more to make the house cheerful.” 

So a few days after the funeral Deacon 
Slocum drove up to Mrs. Bentley’s door. 

“ I have come to take you over to our 
house, if you will go. Priscilla thinks you ’re 
almost worn out, and she wants you to stay 
a day or two with Martha, and let her come 
over here. She wants to tinker up the house 
a little, she and Jim together.” 

Mrs. Bentley was indeed much worn with 
all she had passed through, and she needed 
rest. But she hesitated; she was loath to 
accept so much kindness. The deacon per- 
sisted. 

“ Now take the little girl and go along 
over, do. Priscilla will be terribly disap, 
pointed if you do n’t.” 

Thus importuned, she went. Mrs. Slo T 


4 s JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

cum soon made her feel at ease. After the 
dinner was over, Mrs. Slocum went to help 
Jim Bentley. The next morning she did the 
same. Mrs. Bentley wished to return home ; 
but her kind hostess insisted on her remain- 
ing at least another day, adding, “ It wont 
hurt you to rest.” 

At the end of the second day Mrs. Slo- 
cum and Jim had wrought wonders. The 
house had been whitewashed on the outside, 
two rooms had been papered and painted, and 
several pieces of furniture added ; so that not 
only the kitchen, but even the sitting-room, 
was furnished so as to be respectable. 

When the work was nearly completed, in 
walked Turner. Now Mrs. Slocum, pious 
soul, tried hard to love everybody ; but she 
found, as he made his appearance, that she 
must fail in regard to him at least. And 
when he said, “Trouble for nothing, ma’am, 
trouble for nothing; I intend to foreclose the 
mortgage,” she, to use her own words, “ just 


JIM BENTLE V’S RESOL VE. 


49 


boiled over,” and replied, “ No, you wont, 
either.” 

But we will let her relate the interview as 
she told it to her husband. 

“‘You ought to be sued for damages,’ 
said I, ‘ instead of coming along here with 
any claim on that poor creature’s property. 
Isn’t it enough that you’ve ruined her hus- 
band, soul and body, and got everything away 
from her that ’s worth taking, except the roof 
over her head ? and now you are after that ! 
You ought to be ashamed of yourself! But 
I guess you and shame had a falling out be- 
fore you began to take the bread out of chil- 
dren’s mouths for your nasty whiskey,’ said 
I. Then I said to him, ‘ How much is your 
wonderful mortgage ?’ and he said, ‘ I ain’t 
obliged to tell you my business.’ ‘ Well,’ 
said I, ‘ there ’ll be some one looking after 
this affair, or I do n’t know Jonathan Slo- 
cum.’ Jim turned his back, and I could see 
he was boiling over too. Turner tried to 

7 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 


5 ° 

look as if I had n’t said anything to the point, 
but I knew I had by the way he sneaked off. 
I told Jim not to tell his mother that Turner 
had been there, because I knew it would be 
fixed up some way. I am glad he did n’t 
catch her at home, to worry her just now, 
poor soul !” 

Deacon Slocum was troubled about the 
mortgage, and did not see what was to be 
done ; but he was determined that something: 
should be done to prevent the foreclosure. 

The arrival of Mrs. Bentley’s brother gave 
another phase to the affair. 

“ I think we can manage it,” said her 
brother. “ My sister had money left her by 
her father; but she could get only the inter- 
est of it as long as Bentley lived, for he would 
have squandered all that came within his 
reach.” 

It was found on investigation that the 
mortgage was but three hundred dollars, and 
that the money which Mrs. Bentley would 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 5 r 

now receive from her fathers estate would 
pay it, and leave a surplus of five hundred 
dollars. The deacon advised her to take one 
hundred dollars and buy what they needed, 
and put the remaining four hundred in the 
bank. It was thought that the interest of 
that, with the money that Jim and she could 
earn, would, with economy, keep them from 
want. Among the purchases was a cow. 
As Mrs. Bentley knew how to take care of 
milk and to make butter, she found this in- 
vestment a source of profit. She planted 
flowers about her door, and Jim replaced the 
broken trellises. The neglected garden once 
more showed signs of industry and thrift. 
Currant-bushes were planted along the gar- 
den wall, and some young fruit-trees from the 
deacon’s nursery found their way into the 
old ruined orchard. Before the first sum- 
mer had far advanced, people in passing re- 
marked, “ Who would recognize this place ! 
What a change !” 


52 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


Comforts began to gather around Mrs. 
Bentley. Her face, so long unused to smiles, 
began to wear the look of cheerfulness; and 
Hope, so long a stranger to her heart, re- 
sumed her place with promise of better days. 
Mrs. Bentley had bought suitable clothing 
for herself and her children, and went regu- 
larly with them to church. She had long 
been deprived of this privilege. Very pale 
she looked in her widow’s garb ; but she felt 
happy to be able once more to meet God in 
his sanctuary, and commune with his chil- 
dren. Old friends recognized her, and took 
her hand in friendly greeting. They had 
held aloof as much for her sake as their own ; 
for one suffering as she had done does not 
like to meet curious eyes, or even answer the 
well-meaning questions of friends. 

Mrs. Crawford was one of the first who 
came to see her. She remembered the oc- 
currence which had changed her husbands 
course, and she felt herself drawn towards 


JIM BENTLE YE RESOL VE. 


53 


Mrs. Bentley. They had known a common 
sorrow, and they felt a mutual sympathy, but 
each kept silence on a subject so painful to 
both. Mrs. Crawford’s leave-taking was full 
of unspoken affection, and from that time the 
two women were friends. 

Little Ella attended the village school, 
and, although well dressed, well behaved, and 
beloved by the teacher and most of the pu- 
pils, she had to suffer much from the small 
Higginses, who, envious of her respectable 
appearance, constantly reminded her of that 
which kind people desired the child to forget. 

Jim worked the few acres of land which 
belonged to his mother, and did more to 
improve them than his father had ever done. 
He found time also to work occasionally for 
his neighbors. He was one of that kind that 
can find work and do it while others are look- 
ing for it. 


54 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Higgins’ refusal to reform, or even to 
place himself where he would once more hear 
the Word of God, was followed by increased 
dissipation, and the man went down faster 
than ever. More money went to the tavern, 
and less into his home. His wife, no longer 
able to stem the tide of troubles, sank into 
despondency. A pulmonary disease, from 
which she had long been suffering, developed 
rapidly, and soon her children were mother- 
less. 

With the mother seemed to die all the 
good that was in the family. The children, 
all boys, had been influenced very little by 
her, owing to the disrespect with which their 
father treated all her opinions. Only the 
youngest seemed to possess any of his moth- 
er’s gentleness. The older boys were idle, ill- 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 


55 


mannered, and profane ; they smoked, fre- 
quented grog-shops, and were always on the 
street, ready to fight at the least provocation. 
The younger ones followed their example, as 
a matter of course, and there was nothing to 
check them in their downward career. One 
relative after another was called to fill the 
mother’s place ; but none of them could long 
put up with the bad conduct of the children, 
or the scanty allowance for housekeeping. 
Consequently, the family were repeatedly left 
to themselves, and father and children were 
untidy, shabby, and repulsive in appearance. 
Hence it was that the Higgins children were 
envious of the Bentleys. They knew they 
were going down in the scale of respectabil- 
ity, while the Bentleys were going up. The 
younger boys teased Ella at school ; the 
older ones annoyed Jim on the street, or 
wherever they chanced to meet him. Tom, 
the oldest boy, one day placed himself on the 
corner of the street on purpose to taunt Jim 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOLVE. 


56 

on his way to church. Jim was passing, 
dressed as he should be, when Tom called 
out, 

“Oh dear, how mighty fine you are! 
Seems to me, your style of dress do n’t re- 
semble your father’s.” 

“ Well,” replied Jim, “ it seems to me 
yours does resemble your father’s, and you 
bid fair to make a man just like him.” 

“ Do you want to fight?” said Tom. 

“ Do you ?” said Jim. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then fight your bad habits. They will 
keep you employed, I should judge.” 

The bystanders laughed. Tom was much 
chagrined. Jim passed on. 

As Tom had failed to get Jim to fight 
and thus disgrace himself, he thought of an- 
other plan he hoped would do just as well. 
He feigned friendliness, and wanted Jim to 
drink with him. Jim very positively refused. 
This Tom had expected; but he hoped by 


JIM BENTLE YE RE SOL VE. 


57 


persuasion and ridicule to overcome Jim’s 
scruples. But Jim was immovable. 

“ I should think, Tom,” said he, “ that 
you and I had both seen enough of that sort 
of thing to try to grow up sober men.” 

“ Bah ! one glass wont hurt anybody. 
You ’ll grow up a regular muff if you do n’t 
do a little more as other fellows do.” 

“ Well, you can call me what you please. 
I shall never drink. I despise tippling. Be- 
sides, I told my father on his deathbed that I 
never would ; and I have promised my mo- 
ther a hundred times, when I have seen her 
suffer from the effects of intemperance, that 
I never would drink intoxicating liquors.” 

“ So the old man made you promise, did he ?” 

“ No, he did not ; but I made a resolve in 
his presence, and I will not drink with you 
or any one else.” 

“ Well, you are a milk-and-water boy, sure 
enough ! Now go home and tell your mo- 
ther that Tom Higgins wanted you to drink, 
8 


58 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

and you resisted the temptation ; then she 
will kiss and cuddle you, and call you her 
precious boy.” 

“ Well, Tom, that is just about what she 
would do ; but if you think you make me 
ashamed by such talk, you much mistake. I 
am happy that I have a mother to encourage 
me when I do right ; but I shall not tell her 
anything about you. So, if you would enjoy 
hurting her feelings, I shall disappoint you. 
And I advise you to turn over a new leaf, 
and aim at something higher than leading 
people to ruin.” 

Tom began to think that Jim was out of 
his reach. So he held a consultation with 
some other bad boys, and promised his hand- 
some pocket-knife and the money to buy the 
liquor, to any one of them who should suc- 
ceed in getting Jim Bentley intoxicated. 

“ It ’s a bargain,” said more than one. 

So Jim was soon beset in earnest, but he 
was always firm in his refusal. 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


59 


“ We ’ll make you drink,” said one. 

“ If you threatened to tear me limb from 
limb, I would not drink,” replied Jim. 

“ Well, you ’re plucky,” said another, 
“ and I respect pluck wherever I see it. 
Boys, I think we might be in better business. 
Let ’s go on.” 

And for a time Jim’s annoyance from this 
source was at an end. 


6o 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The approach of winter found the Bent- 
leys very well provided for. The little farm 
had repaid with a bountiful harvest the in- 
dustry of Jim and his mother, for Mrs. Bent- 
ley had not been idle. She had kept the 
garden free from weeds, and a fine lot of veg- 
etables were now stored for winter use. She 
and Ella had gathered and dried fruit as it 
came in its season, for she said, “ If we can- 
not afford to buy sugar for it, we can sell it.” 

Jim had provided a good supply of wood, 
and the money he had earned during the 
summer was sufficient to supply all their 
other necessities. 

All the work being done, Jim very much 
wished to go to school. Although he had a 
good mind and was quick to learn, he knew 
very little about books. He had been put to 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 6 1 

work as soon as he was large enough to do 
anything, and had attended school very little. 
He had tried to study with his mother, but 
he was so frequently interrupted that he did 
not often attempt it. He had always been to 
the Sabbath-school, and had read books from 
its library, and a few other books that had 
fallen in his way. Now the thought of being 
classed so much below those of his own age 
troubled him. He felt that he would be con- 
stantly mortified at school. He spoke to his 
mother about it. She advised him to go and 
do his best. “You are not at fault,” she said, 
“ for not knowing what you have had no op- 
portunity to learn. You know that I have 
had good advantages; and had circumstan- 
ces favored me, I should have had you well 
taught. But you have always been so busy 
there has been no time. Begin now, before 
the winter term opens, and review what you 
have been over. I will help you, and perhaps 
you will take a better place in consequence.” 


6 2 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


So day after day and night after night 
found Jim intent on his books. He had 
reached the age when the mind comprehends 
readily, and his mother possessed the happy 
faculty of making her explanations clear ; 
consequently he advanced rapidly. 

The deacon came in one evening and 
found Jim busy with his arithmetic. 

“ Studying, eh ! Well, that ’s good busi- 
ness. Education is a good thing. I feel the 
need of it every day. Make the best of your 
privileges, and maybe there ’ll be a way by- 
and-by for you to go and make something of 
yourself.” 

Jim entered the school at its opening, and 
he had no cause to be mortified on account 
of his lack of scholarship. He studied dili- 
gently, and before the winter was over he had 
outstripped many of the boys who had en- 
joyed better advantages. 

As spring opened, Jim laid aside his 
books to help Deacon Slocum to make sugar, 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 63 

for in that region maple trees abound, and 
nearly every farmer makes his year’s supply 
of sugar. The sugar-making season is a busy 
one while it lasts, as the sap is kept boiling 
day and night. 

“ The first thing to be done,” said the 
deacon, as Jim presented himself one mild 
morning towards the end of March, “ is to 
look after the buckets and tubs. When 
that ’s done, we ’ll have to hang the boiler, 
and get the wood piled up near it, ready to 
use. I hope we ’ll have a good season, Jim, 
and I mean you shall have a third of it, no 
matter how much we make. Some years we 
make nigh on to a thousand pounds.” 

So Jim went to work, bringing buckets 
down from a shed-loft . where they were 
stored, and the deacon set them in the brook 
to soak. After they were all washed and 
soaked, so that they did not leak, they were 
taken to the sugar-bush. When the boiler 
was hung and the sap-tubs were located, they 


6 4 JIM BENTLE YE RESOL VE. 

commenced tapping trees. Then the boiling 
began. Jim often remained alone all night 
in the sugar house, but frequently the deacon 
staid with him till late in the evening. At 
such times they had many long conversa- 
tions on different subjects. The deacon had 
sound common sense, and his opinions had 
weight with Jim, although he could not al- 
ways clothe them in the smoothest language. 
He was very anxious that Jim should set out 
in life with correct views of its duties and re- 
sponsibilities, and he often introduced serious 
topics in his conversation. 

“ Jim Bentley is made of prime stuff,” he 
said to his wife, “ but I am concerned about 
a young man till he gets religion and joins 
the church. Nothing like religion, Priscilla, 
to keep a young man in the right path.” So 
he improved his opportunities to impress 
Jim’s mind with the need of religion. 

“ You see, Jim,” said he, “ a man is safer 
if he ’s got religion. There ’s a strength he 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


65 

can call upon that ’ll give him the victory 
over temptation, and there ’s many a thing 
that do n’t tempt him like other men, because 
he ’s got more satisfying pleasure. No dan- 
ger of any one’s persuading a man that’s bent 
on pleasing God to drink rum, or to gamble, 
or any such thing. Then we owe to God all 
we have and are, or ever can be. God, the 
Father, created us, and he preserves us; God, 
the Son, laid down his life for us ; and God, 
the Holy Spirit, is waiting to comfort and 
sanctify us. So you see, Jim, when a man 
does not serve God he ’s cheating him, if I 
ought to say so, for I do n’t suppose we really 
can take anything from God. He do n’t 
need us as we need him, and it ’s our poor, 
sin-darkened souls that fare the worst ; for 
no one knows till he tries it what a blessed 
thing it is to feel that he has an All-powerful 
Father watching over him, sleeping or wa- 
king, in joy or in sorrow, in sickness or in 
health, in prosperity or in adversity — One 
9 


66 yiM BENTLE TS RESOL VE. 

who knows all about our circumstances, our 
characters, and our wants. 

“ When we are in great trouble, if we 
only turn our thoughts to him, yearning for 
his blessing, he comes right into our hearts 
and revives us, as the rain revives the grass 
after it has been withered by the scorching 
sun. God is good, Jim. Why, many a time 
when I look out on the face of nature and 
see all the provisions he has made for us, I 
get to thinking how good he is, and I some- 
times get to crying, crying for gladness be- 
cause his tender care is constantly over us. 
Why, it seems to me his love and goodness 
are stamped on everything he has made. 
It’s no ways likely the unconverted see God 
in all his works as his children do, because 
they walk in darkness; but, Jim, it’s my 
prayer that you may be one of the children 
of light.” 

Thus did the good deacon sow seed that 
ere long was to spring up and bear fruit. 


JIM BENTLE Y’S BESOT VE. 67 

Jim worked early and late. On good sap 
days he went around twice and gathered the 
sap, so that none should go to waste; and he 
took special care that the sugar should not 
boil over, or be burned. When the season 
was over, he took home enough sugar to sup- 
ply the family two years. 

Mrs. Bentley had not been idle during the 
winter. She had earned with her needle 
enough to pay current expenses, so that 
spring found them in comfortable circum- 
stances, and free from that worst of encurm 
brances, debt. 


6S 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE, 


CHAPTER IX. 

The ensuing summer, the second after 
Bentley’s death, brought fresh roses to Mrs. 
Bentley’s cheek, elasticity to her spirits, and 
that continual feast, a contented mind. Life 
to her seemed again worth living. She re- 
sumed her former social position, and all 
good people seemed to forget her recent un- 
happy circumstances, and wished to make 
her forget them. She no longer dwelt 
mournfully on the past, or had occasion to 
dread the future. The present was hers to 
enjoy. Each day brought some new proof of 
the goodness and fidelity of her son. His in- 
dustry, integrity, and manly character gained 
the esteem of all. But his mother, like the 
good deacon, longed for the time when he 
should be specially shielded in the all-power- 
ful arms of a covenant-keeping God. This 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 69 

dearest wish of the mother’s heart was soon 
to be realized. 

Early in the following winter an unusual 
religious interest prevailed throughout the 
community. The churches were filled, and 
the prayer-meetings were better attended 
than usual. The desire to see souls gathered 
into the heavenly garner was felt in all the 
churches, and many were earnestly seeking 
salvation. The young, especially, were in- 
quiring what they should do to be saved. 
The pastors united and held a protracted 
series of meetings. The laymen were active 
also, praying and exhorting, and many felt 
that Jesus of Nazareth was passing by. 

Jim was constant in his attendance at the 
meetings, and his mother prayed, as only mo- 
thers can, that God, in the plenitude of his 
mercy, would now gather her son into the 
fold of the Good Shepherd. 

The deacon, too, was always in his place ; 
but, for some reason unknown to his friends, 


70 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 


he was generally silent The truth was, he 
doubted his ability to edify, or even to do any 
good in the cause so dear to his heart, when 
there were so many present who could speak 
more fluently than he. But, like many 
other true Christians, he underrated his influx 
ence. More than one heart was glad as the 
good man arose one evening, and, with a 
slight tremor in his voice, began to speak : — 
“ Dear brethren, I do n’t expect to speak 
unto edification; but I love the Lord Jesus, 
and I feel I ought to say so. I have kept 
still in the meetings because I thought there 
were others here that could do more good 
than I can. But I felt a little uncomfortable 
last night after I got home. That parable 
about the talents came to my mind, and I 
thought perhaps I had one talent and I ought 
to use it. So I stand here to-night that you 
may all know that whatever' influence I have 
I want to use on the Lord’s side. For nigh 
on to thirty years the good Lord has led me 


JIM BENTLE MS RESOL VE. 7 r 

by the hand, with his face shining on me all 
the time. Even when I had sinned against 
him, I had only to ask him for forgiveness, 
and his peace came right back into my soul. 
God is good to us all, and I think I ’d be 
very ungrateful to take the blessings I re- 
ceive day after day and not acknowledge 
them. He has blessed me in basket and in 
store ; he has blessed me with health and 
friends and gospel privileges. The privilege 
of hearing my dear brethren, and some of 
these dear young friends, testify to the Lord’s 
goodness here to-night, makes my heart over- 
flow with praise and thanksgiving. He has 
promised to be with his children when they 
are gathered together in his name, and, my 
brethren, he has fulfilled that promise all 
through the ages. He is here among us to- 
night, ready to own and bless all who come 
unto him. And you, my unconverted friends, 
if you only knew the blessedness of having 
your sins forgiven, you would no longer be 


7 2 JIM BENTLE YE RE SOL VE. 

halting between two opinions, but would 
come right to the Saviour, before your heart 
gets too hard to weep over your sins, that 
cost nothing less than the blood of the Son 
of God.” 

One after another followed the deacon in 
a short address. Then an opportunity was 
given to those who felt an interest in their 
souls’ salvation, to manifest it by rising. Jim 
Bentley was the first to rise. Great was the 
deacon’s joy; and when at the close of the 
service the pastor asked him to pray, his 
prayer was so touching, simple, and earnest, 
that many eyes filled with tears, and many 
hearts responded, “ Amen.” 

“Why, what a powerful man you have 
here; how devout he is,” remarked a stranger 
to the pastor, as they were walking together 
after church. 

“Yes,” returned the pastor, “ I often think 
that Deacon Slocum’s life is one long psalm 
of praise. The glory of God is indeed the 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOLVE. 


73 


chief aim of his life. A few such men in every 
place would go far to Christianize the world. 
He is sometimes diffident on account of his 
lack of education, but still he is my most effi- 
cient worker. His charities are wonderful, 
considering his means. Whenever I visit 
the sick or distressed I find, almost without 
exception, that he has been before me. But 
he never attaches any importance or merit to 
anything he does. He says, ‘ I was going 
that way and dropped in and when he has 
given anything, he says, ‘ We had more than 
we needed.’ Why, some people look at him 
as a veritable saint ; but he is so humble that 
it never occurs to him that he is any better 
than other professing Christians.” 

While the revival was at its height, Dea- 
con Slocum met Tom Higgins and his fa- 
ther. His heart prompted him to make an 
effort to save these his fellow-mortals. So 
he said, “Mr. Higgins, I wish you would 
come to our meetings, and bring your boys 

IO 


74 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RE SOL VE. 


with you. It might be a great benefit, both 
to you and to them.” 

“Well, since it is you, deacon, I’ll give 
you a respectful hearing. Some of the other 
church-members, who are pious only while 
revivals last, tried it on me ; but I gave them 
their change back. But your religion I be- 
lieve to be the genuine article; and I respect 
a man who lives up to his profession. I wish 
the boys would attend. Their mother, poor 
soul, was one of the pious sort. But as for 
me, deacon, it ’s no use.” 

The deacon remonstrated and urged; but 
Higgins repulsed him in his usual rough 
manner. “No use, I tell you, trying to teach 
an old dog new tricks.” 

“Well, Tom, perhaps you will come. As 
your father has said, your mother was a pray- 
ing woman. Do you not want to live so as 
to meet her in heaven?” 

At the mention of his mother’s name, a 
long train of thought was awakened in 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 7 5 

Tom’s mind. He could not help knowing 
that without her they, as a family, had been 
miserable ; and that her quiet, uncomplain- 
ing manner towards her undutiful children 
and her unfeeling husband, was the manifes- 
tation of Christian patience. These thoughts 
softened him somewhat, and he said, “ Maybe 
I ’ll come,” and walked away. 

That evening, as Jim was on his way to 
church, he encountered Tom. His heart 
sank within him, for he thought, “ Tom has 
heard I am serious, and he is going to ridi- 
cule religion.” But Tom did not at first say 
anything. He stood kicking the hard, crusted 
snow with the heel of his boot; finally he 
said, 

“Jim, would you mind taking a fellow 
with you?” 

Jim had misgivings. He thought Tom’s 
object in going was to disturb the meeting. 
But he said, “ Come on.” 

The meeting was one of unusual interest; 


1 6 JIM BENTLE Y’S EES OL VE. 

but Jim did not enjoy it as he would have 
done but for the presence of Tom. He did 
indeed put up the mental prayer, “Save him,” 
but it was with little expectation that it would 
be immediately answered. And he felt he 
could not witness for Christ with a scoffer at 
his side. But in another corner of the church 
sat Deacon Slocum. He had seen Tom 
enter, and his faith rose to meet the neces- 
sity of the case. He wrestled like one of old 
for a blessing on Tom Higgins. He prayed 
also that Jim might have strength given him 
to bear his cross. Both prayers were an- 
swered. For when the time came, Jim arose 
and said a few words for the Master he had 
so lately begun to serve ; and when the anx- 
ious souls were invited to come forward for 
prayers, Tom turned and whispered to Jim, 
“ Shall I go?” 

“You are not in earnest?” asked Jim. 

“ Yes, I am.” 

“ Then go, certainly.” And he went. 


JIM BENTLE YE RESOL VE. 77 

Jim saw that Tom was deeply moved. 

“ I am so glad you came,” said Jim after 
the close of the meeting, and he drew Tom’s 
arm through his own to walk home with him. 

Deacon Slocum. came and spoke to them. 
He pressed Tom’s hand firmly, saying, “God 
bless you, my boy.” 

A new life seemed opening before Tom 
Higgins. He had made two friends, and was 
led to hope for another Friend, stronger and 
truer than all earthly friends. 

“ Call for me to-morrow evening,” said 
Jim as they parted. “We will go to church 
together.” 

Mrs. Bentley had not been present at the 
meeting. Jim’s first words to her were, “ Mo- 
ther, Tom Higgins went forward for pray- 
ers.” 

She looked both pleased and surprised. 
“Nothing is too hard for the Lord to do,” 
said she. 


78 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


CHAPTER X. 

As Tom Higgins entered his home that 
night, he found it in a state of confusion. 
His aunt was talking in a loud tone. Two 
of the children were contending for some- 
thing. Little Johnnie was sleepy and crying 
because no one would take him to bed. 

“I will take you,” said Tom. “You shall 
sleep with me.” 

Johnnie went with his brother, wondering 
what made him so good. When he was 
ready for bed, Tom asked, 

“Do you say your prayers now, Johnnie?” 

“No,” said the little fellow, “not always 
now, since ma died. Harry said it was of no 
use, so I stopped.” 

“You should do as ma told you. She 
knew better than Harry does.” 

“ I s’pose so; but it seems as if there is n’t 



mii 


(Bias ts) 


4 


Pat^e 79. 





































JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 79 

any God to hear me now. I used to go, 
when I was lonely for ma, and ask him to 
take me too; but he didn’t. And Harry 
used to find me crying, sometimes, and ask 
me what I was crying for; and when I told 
him he would laugh at me. I ’m lonesome 
’most always now-a-days. I want to go where 
ma is. Nobody combs my hair now, and I 
never look nice as I used to. Seems to me, 
I a’ n’t Johnnie any longer.” 

“ Well, I will take care of you,” said Tom. 
“You are my dear little brother.” 

“ I ’d like to talk longer, Tom, ’cause 
you ’re so good ; but I ’m sleepy, and my 
throat ’s sore, and you ’ll have to ’scuse me. 
Kiss me, Tom. I believe it’s a whole year 
since anybody kissed me.” 

Tom kissed the child, and sat down to 
think, as he had never thought before. 
When the candle had burned low in the sock- 
et, he took it and went to look at his young- 
est brother. It was as the child had said. 


80 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

He did not look like Johnnie. The hair 
that had hung in clustering curls was now 
neglected and matted. The face on which 
the mother’s last kiss was imprinted had tear- 
stains on it, and the little cheeks were 
sunken. 

“Poor little heart-broken brother!” said 
Tom, and his own tears flowed freely. “I 
wonder if mother knows what I have done 
to-night, and that I mean to be good to 
Johnnie?” were Tom’s last waking thoughts. 
He fell asleep, but was roused by a hoarse 
cough from Johnnie. 

“ What is it?” he asked, touching the child. 

“ I can ’t breathe very well.” 

Aunt Eunice was called. 

“ I suppose he ’s gone and got the croup,” 
said she; “and his father is off, no one knows 
where.” 

“ I know too well where he is,” answered 
Tom, “and I’ll go after him as soon as I 
send the doctor.” 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RE SOL VE. 8 1 

“No; you must n’t leave me ; everybody 
else is cross,” said J ohnnie with laboring breath. 

Tom turned, irresolute, having half a 
mind to send some one else. 

“ Oh, go along,” said his aunt. “ I guess 
I can manage him till you get back.” 

Tom stooped and kissed the little parched 
lips and hurried away. The doctor was not 
at home. The father was in a state of intox- 
ication, and could but half understand what 
was told him. He got on his feet, however, 
and staggered towards home. Tom hurried 
on before him, for the little pleading voice 
seemed calling him. He found Johnnie 
worse. He called his brother George, and 
told him to go for Mrs. Slocum. The aunt, 
now thoroughly alarmed, made no objection. 
She was the aunt of Mr. Higgins, a maiden 
lady, and knew but little of the care of sick 
children. George did some grumbling about 
going out in the cold, and made little haste, 
but finally he set out. 

• ii 


82 JIM BENTLE YE RESOL VE. 

Tom was much distressed as he saw the 
difficulty with which Johnnie breathed. How 
long the time seemed till help came! He 
and his aunt did all they knew how to do, 
but Johnnie was no better. They feared he 
would die. 

The father came in with bloodshot eyes 
and idiotic stare. He but partially compre- 
hended the situation. He sat down by the 
stove, and soon fell into a stupid sleep. 

Mrs Slocum came as soon as possible. 

“Has he been in warm water?” was her 
first question. 

“ No.” 

“Well, the child will die at this rate. 
Here, Tom, you pour this goose oil down 
him, and we must have a tub of warm water 
as soon as possible.” 

Tom went for water, and put it on the 
stove to heat. 

Mrs. Slocum gave Johnnie a warm bath, 
wrapped him in flannel, put onions about his 


JIM BENTLE V'S RESOL VE. 83 

throat, and administered all the remedies she 
had ever used in cases of croup. The doc- 
tor came about breakfast time. His treat- 
ment was no more successful than Mrs. Slo- 
cum’s. God had heard the child’s prayer, 
and was about to answer it. Till nearly 
noon little Johnnie struggled with death; 
then he gave up the unequal contest and 
went to his mother. 

Mrs. Bentley was now sent for. Her deft 
fingers once more curled the hair of the fair 
little sleeper, and she and Mrs. Slocum ar- 
rayed the little form for the grave. Beauti- 
ful, indeed, was the clay from which the sor- 
rowful young spirit had been taken to the 
love and joy of heaven. The high white 
forehead encircled with golden ringlets, the 
small, regular features, looking so sweetly 
restful, the little thin hand, holding a single 
half-opened bud from a monthly-rose tree, 
were not soon forgotten by those who looked 
upon them. 


8 4 


JIM BENTLE Y’S EESOL VE. 


The family that had been so boisterous 
and ungovernable the preceding evening 
were now quiet and orderly, speaking in sub- 
dued voices, for all were solemnized by the 
presence of death, and sincerely mourned 
their loss. Each one now recalled some 
word or act of unkindness towards the inof- 
fensive little one, and the remembrance 
added bitterness to their tears. 

Higgins, now thoroughly sober, looked 
thoughtful. The hard expression on his face 
gave place to even a saddened one. He 
gazed long on the little broken human flower 
that, through his own evil course and cruel 
neglect, had wished to be transplanted to a 
sunnier clime, whither had gone the only one 
who had understood the clinging, sensitive 
nature. “ How like my poor Mollie!” he said 
at length ; then softly to himself he added, 
“ Too much like her for an atmosphere like 
this.” Then, turning about, he saw Tom 
seated in the opposite corner of the room. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


85 


He had not been aware of the presence of 
any one, for the short winter day was closing 
and the light was dim. Half ashamed of 
this slight show of feeling, he assumed a 
harsher look, and went out of the room. 

His small stock of decency kept him from 
Turner’s till after the burial of his child. On 
the evening after the funeral he went out, and 
chanced to meet Deacon Slocum. After 
some words of sympathy and condolence, the 
deacon remarked, 

“ I thought you would n’t want to go any- 
where this evening, or I would have asked 
you to go to meeting with- me. You are not 
so blind to the dealings of Providence as not 
to see that God is speaking to you in this 
dispensation. He wants your soul saved. 
Oh, do not be so unmindful of your eternal 
welfare.” 

“ I can’t go to-night,” said Higgins, turn- 
ing away. “ I should n’t be on the street but 
for some business that is pressing.” 


86 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 

The deacon, from very anxiety, turned 
and looked after him, and was somewhat re- 
lieved to see that he did not take the road that 
led directly to the bar-room. He could not see 
that he took the very next turn leading to it. 

Tom staid at home, gathered his brothers 
around him, and, with the help of One stron- 
ger than himself, talked long and earnestly 
to them. He told them the step he had taken 
in the meeting, his determination to break off 
all bad habits, and his desire to serve God. 
He then in a certain way contrasted the char- 
acters of his parents by dwelling on the pure, 
unselfish love and tong-suffering of his moth- 
er, leaving each one to contemplate the con- 
duct of the remaining parent. 

The brothers, George, Nelson, and Harry, 
were much impressed. They saw the force 
and truth of Tom’s words. He told them 
that if they wanted to be anything in this 
life, they would have to strive for it ; and if 
they wanted to be with their mother and dear 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 87 

little Johnnie in heaven, they must live for it. 
He urged them to go to church with him, as 
that would be the first step towards respecta- 
bility and right. 

The boys talked the matter over next day, 
and concluded to do as Tom had desired. 
They went to church. Deacon Slocum, with 
a face full of kindly interest, took the brothers 
to his seat. After the meeting was over *he 
expressed his pleasure at seeing them all 
there, and invited them to his seat every 
evening. After this the boys were in con- 
stant attendance. Tom made many attempts 
to get his father to attend; but they were 
fruitless. Higgins got tired of being impor- 
tuned, and told Tom to have done with his 
preaching. 

“ I am glad you boys go,” said he, “ but I 
will not go. You go your way, and leave me 
to go mine.” 

“ Father, have you considered where your 
way will lead you ?” 


88 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

“ No. That will be bad enough when it 
comes. I shall not bid the Devil good-mor- 
row till I meet him.” 

“ Father, if you should change your course, 
we should all be the happier for it in this life, 
and perhaps we should all meet in that place 
it is pleasant to think of.” 

The father tossed his head impatiently, 
and with a firm voice replied, “ If your moth- 
er’s long years of blameless life could not rec- 
ommend religion to me, how can such an up- 
start as you hope to persuade me, when you 
have not learned the alphabet of it? I tell 
you, I will not give up my pleasures. I am 
too old to change my course of life.” 

Tom turned away, grieved at his father’s 
hardness. 

The meetings ended. Many were the 
souls gathered into the church. Among 
them were Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, Martha 
Slocum, and, as has already been intimated, 
Jim Bentley and Tom Higgins. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


89 


CHAPTER XI. 

In less than a month from the time when 
Johnnie Higgins was buried there was an- 
other funeral in the family. Higgins had 
been drinking more than usual, and staying 
out very late at night. One morning the 
family found that he was not in his room, and 
had not been there during the night While 
they were yet talking of his absence, a neigh- 
bor came and told them that the man had 
been found dead — frozen to death ! It was 
true. Higgins had left the bar-room after 
midnight, hardly able to stand. The weather 
was intensely cold. He was unable to keep 
the road, and ‘had gone but a short distance 
when he fell in the deep snow. There he was 
found in the morning. The suddenness of 
the event produced a shock. Bad as he had 

been, many had been interested in him at the 
12 


9 ° 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE . 


time of Johnnie’s death, and had vainly en- 
treated him to give up the terrible habit of 
intemperance. 

The minister, when asked to preach a ser- 
mon, felt that he had an unpleasant duty to 
perform. But he dared not cry peace when 
there was no peace. Too many were intem- 
perate, for him to pass lightly over the awful 
warning. The text he chose for himself was 
as startling as that which Bentley had chosen 
for him. He read Proverbs 29:1: “ He that, 
being often reproved, hardeneth his neck, 
shall suddenly be destroyed, and that with- 
out remedy.” The sermon was very solemn. 
Many sympathetic faces turned towards the 
four boys now orphans. But who will say 
that with such a father they had not before 
been worse than orphaned ? 

The Higgins boys found themselves al- 
most penniless. Their father had sacrificed 
everything to the demon of drink. 

The good deacon offered Harry a home. 


JIM BENTLE Y’S BE SOL VE. 9 1 

It was gladly accepted. Tom, whose recent 
course had gained him some friends, obtained 
a situation in a store. Two of the brothers 
were yet to be provided for. Tom went to 
Mrs. Bentley’s and talked the matter over 
with Jim. Jim said he thought he knew a 
good chance for one. Mrs. McDonald, an 
excellent Scotch woman, generally spoken of 
as Aunt Nannie, because she was everybody’s 
friend, had recently buried her only son, and 
she was looking for a trusty boy to live in her 
house and assist on her farm as her own son 
had done. She lived but a short distance 
from Mrs. Bentley’s, and the two families 
were well acquainted. Tom was anxious to 
go at once and secure the place for one of his 
brothers; but Mrs. McDonald did not know 
him personally, and what she knew of his 
family would be of no advantage to him, to 
say the least; so he desired Jim to go with 
him. Jim readily complied, and the two had 
a pleasant walk. 


92 JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 

“Jim,” said Tom, when Aunt Nannie’s 
was nearly reached, “ I am glad you stuck to 
your resolve so firmly. I have admired you 
ever since, though I would n’t confess it at 
first. Your refusal to drink has been worth 
a great deal to me, for it made me uneasy in 
spite of myself. I hope I have done with evil 
habits now and for ever.” 

They found Mrs. McDonald nearly sick 
with a cold. Her brother, who lived at the 
distance of half a mile, found it inconvenient 
to come any longer to do the work at the 
barn, so she had been doing it herself, and 
had taken cold in that way. 

“I’m in sore need of a lad to mind the 
work at the barn,” said she. 

“ We know two boys who want a place,” 
said Jim. “ This young man’s brothers are 
without a home, and I feel sure, Aunt Nan- 
nie, that this would be a good place for a 
homeless boy.” 

“ I thank you very much for your good 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 93 

opinion of me, but I should not need them 
both." 

“ Oh, no ; we do n’t expect that.” 

“ What do you call the lads ?” 

“ George and Nelson,” answered Tom. 

“ Geordie ! that must be the one, for that 
was the name of my own bairn. But Geordie 
what ? - What ’s the other name ?” 

“ Higgins,” replied. Tom. 

Aunt Nannie’s countenance fell, and 
Tom’s face was covered with confusion. 
Aunt Nannie noticed it, and added, “ It shall 
be, all the same. God forbid that I should 
have any prejudice against the bairn because 
of anything that ’s past, since God had mercy 
on my own son who had a like fault, and has 
not left me a lone widow without hope this 
day for him who ’s gone. Geordie Higgins 
will find Nannie McDonalds heart and home 
both open to him ; and I will ask my brother 
if he will take the other lad.” 

The result of this conference was that 


94 JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 

George went to live with Aunt Nannie, and 
Nelson with her brother, Mr. William Frazer. 

Having found homes for his brothers, 
Tom gave his whole time and attention to 
please his employer. In this he succeeded, 
and gained the esteem of others also. 

Deacon Slocum told the boys they might 
consider his house their home, and come 
whenever they pleased. 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


95 


CHAPTER XII. 

Spring came again. Mrs. Bentley, wish- 
ing to keep Jim employed at home, took her 
money from the bank and bought ten acres 
of land adjoining her little place. The land 
being in a good state of cultivation, Jim went 
into gardening and fruit-raising. His close 
attention to business gave him success in this 
as in his other undertakings. He now had a 
settled occupation. 

We will pass over several years, merely 
adding that Jim attended school every winter 
until he was twenty-one. He did not go 
away to school, as the deacon had suggested; 
but the public school of the village developed 
into an academy, and Jim availed himself of 
its advantages, and became a very good 
scholar. He read whatever good books came 
in his way. He taught in the Sabbath-school, 


5,6 .JIM BENTLE MS RESOL VE. 

and was a very useful and respectable mem- 
ber of society. 

Martha Slocum had fulfilled the promise 
of her childhood and become a beautiful and 
attractive girl. She had attended the acade- 
my for several years, and, as it just then be- 
came popular to go away to school, she went 
to Mount Holyoke for a year. On her return 
she took a position as teacher in the acad- 
emy. 

The parents had noticed for some time a 
growing attachment between these two young 
people. But Jim had not declared himself a 
lover. He felt that his circumstances would 
not justify such a declaration. He had his 
mother and sister to care for; and although 
the fruit-trees were now in bearing, and his 
garden was a source of profit, he did not con- 
sider his income sufficient to warrant any ad- 
dition to his expenses. Especially could he 
not think of taking Martha from her com- 
fortable home to share a poorer one. 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 


97 


While matters were in this state, Martha’s 
aunt, the wife of her father’s brother, came to 
visit at Deacon Slocum’s, and brought with 
her a nephew of her own, Ralph Eaton. 
Martha had seen this young man when she 
visited her aunt in Boston, during the holi- 
days while she was at school. 

The design of Aunt Clara was soon appa- 
rent. But she overreached herself, as most 
match-makers do, in trying to arrange mat- 
ters too quickly. Martha was indignant at 
her aunt’s officiousness, and told her she was 
capable of choosing for herself. 

“ Girls never will be told anything,” re- 
torted her aunt. “ If they would let older 
and wiser heads manage a little more, there 
would not be so many mismated people in the 
world. Now this gentleman is a lawyer, and 
likely to make a reputation. If you should 
marry him you would get up in the world. I 
suppose you will never have another such 
chance. You are well educated and good- 
13 


9 S JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 

looking, and if you will do as I advise it will 
be the making of you.” 

She did not say that a prospective claim 
on the deacon’s snug little property would be 
the making of her nephew; but she thought 
so, none the less. 

Finding that Martha was not favorably 
impressed, and that she avoided Ralph, and 
refused to listen to her suggestions, she 
turned to Mr. and Mrs. Slocum. 

“ Do n’t you think Ralph and Martha 
would make a good match ?” she asked. 

“Well, I don’t know. I a’ n’t in any 
hurry to marry Martha off. I like to have 
her at home too well for that.” 

“ In all probability she will marry some- 
time, and it’s always best to take the best 
chance.” 

“Well, I take it Martha has got sense 
enough to tell when her best chance comes.” 

“ I hope she does n’t care anything for that 
country fellow I have seen her talking with,” 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 99 

Aunt Clara remarked after a short pause. 
“ I should be ashamed of her if that was the 
case. Now although Ralph is so smart and 
well-to-do, I really believe Martha could catch 
him,” she said, lowering her voice, and giving 
that peculiar kind of wink that people some- 
times give when they are disposed to be con- 
fidential. 

This “set a little too snug,” as the deacon 
would have said, and he was framing an an- 
swer, when his wife began to express her 
mind on the subject. 

“ It ’s hard telling who is worth catching. 
We want Martha with us as long as we can 
have her. We do n’t want her hurried away. 
Time enough when she takes a notion for 
herself. Then, if she fancies what you 
choose to call a country fellow, we sha’ n’t 
make any objections. There ’s no foolish 
pride about us.” 

The aunt now began to make prepara- 
tions for returning home. She suddenly dis- 


IOO 


JIM BENTLE MS RESOL VE. 


covered that country air was not as beneficial 
to her nephew as she had supposed it would 
be. This had been the pretext for bringing 
him with her. He had, she said, applied 
himself to his business with so much dili- 
gence that he needed relaxation and country 
air. 

The young man, on finding how matters 
stood, assumed a great many airs, and kept 
aloof from the society of the family as much 
as decency would permit. He occupied his 
short remaining time in looking at natural 
scenery, adjusting his glasses with the ut- 
most precision,' or puffing a cigar as if his 
success in life depended on the ease with 
which the smoke escaped at the corner of his 
mouth. He and his aunt made their adieus 
in a formal manner and departed The dea- 
con’s family breathed more easily; and Jim 
Bentley was unspeakably relieved. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


IOI 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Shortly after the departure of the vis- 
itors, Jim found that he had some business 
with Deacon Slocum. He thought that if he 
was not welcomed with the old cordiality he 
would make but a short stay. 

“ Walk right in,” said the deacon. “We 
have n’t seen you for a long time.” 

“ I have been very busy,” said Jim. 

Conversation commenced, and time passed 
so pleasantly that it was two hours before 
Jim rose to go. And no wonder, for a pleas- 
ant home was the deacon’s. 

Martha had, by dint of much coaxing, 
modernized the appearance of the rooms. 
The short, stiffly-starched curtains in the best 
room had given place to embroidered muslin 
ones, gracefully looped at the sides, and reach- 
ing to the floor. The gay rag carpet, long 


102 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE . 


the pride of Mrs. Slocum’s eyes, had been 
transferred to the sitting-room, and in its 
place was a pretty, soft-colored ingrain. 
Some new furniture also found its way into 
Mrs. Slocum’s “ square room,” and it was 
known as the parlor. The spare bed, high 
and round, as farmers’ wives take pleasure in 
making their feather beds, was covered with 
a white counterpane. This cost the mother 
a sigh, as the patch-work quilt — the rising 
sun — that covered it had for years been an 
object of admiration, and she wanted it in 
a conspicuous place. So, very gently did 
Martha break it to her that she wanted a 
white spread for the spare chamber. The 
mother was hurt. She often felt that Mar- 
tha did not appreciate the work of by-gone 
days. But a little good-natured argument 
usually decided matters in favor of the daugh- 
ter’s wishes. 

Martha had studied music at school, and 
she often expressed a wish to have a piano. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE . 


103 


“ What do we want with a piano ?” said the 
deacon ; “ our neighbors would all laugh at 
us.” Nevertheless, on his daughter’s twenty- 
first birthday anniversary he made her a 
present of a piano, for he took much pleasure 
in gratifying her wishes. She sang well, and 
so did Jim, and they often sang together, to 
the great enjoyment of the deacon and his 
wife. 

Very pretty was Martha, with her wavy 
brown hair drawn back from her broad high 
forehead — for her youth passed before the 
days of bangs and frizzes — her clear rosy com- 
plexion, and soft hazel eyes. Her dress, 
though not expensive, was always in good 
taste. On the evening of which we are wri- 
ting she was dressed in white, with a blue rib- 
bon at the throat, and a knot of the same in 
her hair. Surely, Jim was pardonable for 
forgetting that, when he first came, he had 
thought he was in haste and could stay but 
a few moments. 


104 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOLVE. 


Mrs. Bentley’s house, also, had been 
changed for the better. The old home was 
now scarcely the same, so thoroughly had it 
been repaired. It was newly painted, and 
the windows were furnished with green blinds. 
The front yard was enclosed with a neat 
fence, and filled with flowers and shrubbery. 
Ella took delight in flowers, and might often 
be seen passing from one to another, now wa- 
tering drooping plants, now culling bouquets 
to add cheerfulness to the pleasant sitting- 
room, or to adorn her own sunny chamber. 
No traces were left of the poverty and misery 
of her early childhood. 

Mrs. Bentley was not blind to the beauty 
of her daughter — for Ella was a very pretty 
girl — and she often committed her to the 
care of him who is able to keep the heart 
from vanity and pride, and to beautify it with 
the graces of his Spirit. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


I0 5 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The Higgins boys had meanwhile re- 
tained their places, keeping the good will of 
their employers, although George had sev- 
eral times drunk so freely that his kind friend 
had noticed it. This grieved her much, for 
she had grown to be very fond of him, often 
calling him her “ bairn.” He, too, felt sad 
and discouraged in view of his weakness, for 
he truly desired to overcome it. He talked 
with Aunt Nannie about it. She was very 
patient with him, and promised to tell him 
the story of one who had gone much deeper 
into sin than he had, but had reformed and 
become a useful member of the church, and 
a comfort to his friends. 

One wild winter night, when the storm 

was raging, and the wind moaning and howl- 
14 


1 06 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

ing, Aunt Nannie, silent and pensive, sat be- 
fore the huge fire which burned in the open 
fireplace — for she would have an open fire, 
“ to seem more like the old home,” she said. 

George had often noticed that on stormy 
nights like this she looked sad and abstract- 
ed; and remembering that he had heard it 
said that people’s troubles do not hurt them 
so much when they talk about them, he 
asked, 

“ Aunt Nannie, could you tell me that 
story to-night ?” guessing rightly that she 
was thinking of it. 

“ Ah, my bairn, it will be sad to relate ; 
but I will not keep from you what may be for 
your good. I will tell you the sorrowful tale 
of the faults of one who is dear to me, much 
in the same way that one gives the body of a 
friend to a dissecting-knife, that other folk 
may profit by it. 

“ That you may the better know how my 
heart would be set on my bairn, and the need 


JIM BENTLE Y’S EESOL VE. 


107 


that he should be a comfort to me, I will go 
back a bit and give you a few scraps of my 
own history. In the whole country of Aber- 
deenshire there was not a merrier lass than 
Nannie Frazer. Folk often talked of my 
bonny face ; whether I was bonny or not, it 
does not matter. I know well I had a light- 
some heart, at any rate. Long was I the joy 
of my parents ; ay, I was to them like their 
very eyes. But when I was a lass of twelve 
years, Willie, my brother, was born. I was 
far happier then, for he was a winsome wee 
playmate. But I could not stay a bairn, you 
know; and when I was almost twenty I wed- 
ded with Captain McDonald. 

“ A year from that time Geordie was born. 
We were a happy family. My husband never 
sailed far away, and he was often with us. He 
was very proud of wee Geordie ; but he did 
not live long enough to hear our wee one call 
him father.” 

Here she stopped and wiped her eyes, but 


icS JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

soon overcoming her feelings somewhat, she 
proceeded : 

“ One wild night the waters of the North 
Sea covered him. I cannot dwell on it. Oh, 
but it was sore news that came to me ! I do 
not know how I lived. It was a w r oful time, 
a woful time,” she slowly repeated. 

“ But Geordie was left to me. And I said 
to myself, ‘ He will be a comfort.’ I w*as in 
my father’s house, and all were very good to 
me. Geordie grew fast, and was a cheerful, 
winsome lad. Many is the time my father 
has laughed at the bairn till the sides of him 
shook. And he w^as as good-natured a bairn 
as you ever saw; but never, from a wee bit 
lad, could he say ‘No’ to anybody. I mind 
my mother once said, ‘ Geordie must learn to 
say No before he grows to be a man, or it 
will be the worse for himself.’ Never was 
truer word spoken. But I must not come to 
that yet. 

“ Willie w r as very fond of Geordie, and the 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 109 

wee one was as much taken with him. So it 
came about that when the lads met, with their 
games and one thing and another, wee Geor- 
die was always at Willie’s heels ; and from 
that time he was too fond of company. I did 
not mind him as I should have done had not 
my mother been taken with a long, weari- 
some sickness, and the end of it was death. 
I grieved sorely for my mother. I had never 
been away from her. It seemed to me that 
the light of our home went out with her dear 
life. But if I grieved much, father grieved 
more. He would not take his meat, as was 
good for him, and he wearied night and day 
for her of the cheerful face, the tender heart, 
and the willing hands. He was like one 
whose guiding-star had set. At last he 
turned to my mother’s pocket Testament 
It was with him in the house and in the field, 
at home and abroad. From that he first 
learned that wisdom that cometh from above. 
But he never seemed himself after my moth- 


1 1 o JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

er’s death. Willie and I tried to comfort him, 
but we had much need of comfort ourselves. 
Wee Geordie alone did not realize the loss. 
But it was not many years before my father 
followed my mother. Geordie was older then, 
and he grieved too. He would not play ; he 
would* go out and sit on a bit of a stone, or 
anything that came in his way, and cry for 
his grandfather. The lad had a tender heart, 
with all his faults. 

“ But time works changes with one’s feel- 
ings ; it softens sorrow. We think we can- 
not live, and we live, for all. O Geordie, the 
heart will bear much and not break, else mine 
had snapped long, long since. You will be 
thinking my story long and sad, but I have 
not come to the worst of it. 

Geordie was soon a fine, strong lad, with 
a merry heart and a thoughtless head. He 
was always in some prank or other in the 
school. That worried me, as you may well 
judge. I did not then know that it was the 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. i i i 

best time I should see with him for many long 
years. But a merciful God keeps the future 
from us, or our strength would all be spent 
before we came to our troubles. Then we 
could not bear them. 

“ When a mother looks on her wee bairns, 
let her hope for the best ; that is well ; but 
she must not weary to have them grow up, 
for she cannot know the sorrow they may 
bring to her heart. She need not think that 
the love she gives them will be repaid with 
ingratitude and disrespect; but it may be 
even so.. And when they sicken, and she 
will not give them up, but prays they may be 
spared, without saying ‘ God’s will be done,’ 
she does not know what she may be asking 
for. 

“ But I must not weary your patience. 
Geordie was much given to strong drink. 
His mother’s entreaties would win promises 
from him, but never did he mind them when 
he was out with other lads. Or, if he minded 


1 12 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


them, he was more afraid to be laughed at 
than he was to break his mother’s heart. 
Willie, my brother, always stood by me. Not 
a lass in all those parts was so bonny as to 
win him from his sorrow-stricken sister. He 
tried to make up to me what Geordie lacked 
in giving. But, my lad, though a brother is 
near, it is a bairn who is linked with every 
fibre of the heart. 

“Geordie was a spendthrift with it all, 
and our silver was all taken up — the hard 
earnings of my father long gathered to his 
rest; and that was not all, for we were even 
fain to undermine the old place were we first 
saw the light of day, to bring the lad through 
the many troubles he brought upon himself. 
I feared he would lay himself open to the law 
in some way. Not a night but my pillow 
was wet with my tears. One wail went up 
from my heart, ‘Woe is me! woe is me!’ 
Earthly helpers all failed; so I the oftener 
bethought myself of the never-failing Helper, 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 1 1 3 

and I poured out my soul to him. That was 
all my consolation. When we were sore 
pushed to know what to do, Geordie himself 
thought of a plan. ‘ Go away, mother,’ said 
he, ‘to the United States of America, from all 
my old associates, and I will promise to mind 
my ways.’ That is ten years agone when 
the spring opens. Willie would almost take 
his life in his hand to help me. So we sold 
our home and divided the avails of it when 
we had paid our obligations. It was a bon- 
ny home, that was deeded to my father for a 
great service he rendered to an earl. We 
came to America, and we had enough left to 
buy the homes we both have. 

“ Geordie was true to his promise* He 
learned to love the good Father whose long- 
suffering bore with his waywardness. And 
when I was called to give him up to death, it 
was with the sure hope of meeting him in a 
better world. 

“Willie soon married a young woman 
15 


H4 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


he met on shipboard, and a good wife she is; 
but he never lost his love to his only sister. 

“You now have my story. I hope you 
will never need me to repeat it, my bairn, my 
second Geordie. Be a good lad, and a good 
man, and there will be a provision made for 
you when my head lies low. I am not old, 
but sorrow has made me seem so. Oh, 
Geordie, strong drink is the bane of the 
world ! It is that has made my life so weari- 
some. But I have had other troubles, as I 
have told you. I cannot know all that God’s 
dealings with me mean, but I make bold to 
hope I shall be one of those who stand before 
the throne arrayed in white robes, for I shall 
have come up out of great tribulations. 
Now, Geordie, see that you add nothing to 
them.” 

“ I hope I never shall,” said George, much 
affected. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE . 


IX 5 


CHAPTER XV. 

Chester Crawford found that temper- 
ance and the new life he was leading ren- 
dered himself and his family much happier. 
He often thought with a shudder of the days 
now long past; and it was with him a matter 
of sincere thankfulness to Almighty God, in 
whose strength alone he trusted, that he had 
been enabled to overcome his besetting sin. 
Mrs. Crawford had lost the sad, weary look 
of by-gone years, and the roses again bloomed 
on her cheeks. Will, who was now a young 
man, was a son to be proud of. He was 
studying medicine, with energy and success. 
Helen, his sister, was three years younger. 

She was a bright, active girl, finding much 
sunshine in life, and making much for those 
around her. 

Their home was very attractive, and they 


1 1 6 JIM BENTLE Y'S RE SOL VE. 

were in comfortable circumstances. They 
and the Bentleys were intimate friends, and 
had been so ever since the death of Bentley. 
Now another agency was at work to cement 
their friendship more closely. 

The childish affection that had sprung 
up between Will Crawford and Ella Bentley, 
when Will had fought her battles at school, 
had ripened with maturer years. But, though 
united in heart, they knew that years of wait- 
ing must precede the consummation of their 
hopes, for Will had to finish his medical 
course and secure a fair practice before he 
could reasonably marry. But he was so sure 
of his prize that he was willing to study, work, 
and wait. Shall anything cause him to feel 
less confident? We shall see. 

About the time that Ella was eighteen 
years old, Ralph Eaton again visited the 
town, lured back, he said, by the delightful 
scenery, healthful air, and trouted brooks. 
If he had other motives, they were not known. 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 1 17 

Perhaps he had a lurking desire to know 
whether he might not, by using more tact, 
yet win Martha Slocum. But he was not 
long in learning that she was engaged to Jim 
Bentley. He, however, remained several 
weeks at a public boarding-house, and seemed 
to have no lack of recreation and amusement. 
The best fishing place was near Mrs. Bent- 
ley’s, and the route to it led past her house. 
Eaton, equipped with hook and line, often 
sauntered past. Sometimes he saw Ella as 
she was working among her flowers. One 
day he stopped and asked for some water. 
She gave it to him, and he thanked her very 
politely, but did not pass on. He lingered 
near the flower-beds expatiating on their 
beauty with well chosen words, for he had 
good conversational powers ; indeed, he was 
charming when he chose to make himself so. 

“That young lawyer is very agreeable,” 
Ella remarked to Jim as they were seated at 
their cheerful tea-table. 


1 1 3 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

“ I Iow do you know?” 

“ Why, he stopped here to-day and asked 
for some water. Then he staid a few min- 
utes and talked about plants and flowers.” 

Jim remembered the uneasiness Eaton 
had once caused him. “ Most people can 
make themselves agreeable for a short time, 
if they choose,” said he; “but I don’t like 
him, and I do n’t want you to make his ac- 
quaintance.” 

Here the matter dropped for that time. 

But in a few days Eaton again appeared 
at the gate. Ella was among her flowers. 
He bade her good morning, and began to 
talk very animatedly. At length he spoke of 
a certain plant, and, to show her to what he 
referred, he coolly walked in. 

Ella was surprised, but she treated him 
with politeness. After talking a few min- 
utes, he took up his fishing-rod and walked 
away. 

When Jim heard of this, his brow clouded. 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


119 


“ Ella, you must avoid that man,” he said 
seriously. “ He drinks freely, and may not 
always know his place.” 

Soon afterwards Will Crawford’s friend — 
or perhaps we might better say his foe — 
wrote to him, gossiping about many things. 
Among other items he wrote, “You will 
have to look out, old boy, or you will lose 
that little specimen of perfection you feel so 
sure of. Ralph Eaton is in the place again, 
and he has been seen twice in Mrs. Bentley’s 
yard, talking with Ella. Now do n’t be sur- 
prised at this. The course of true love never 
runs smooth, you know.” 

“ What impertinence ! What does the 
fellow mean by writing such stuff? The 
idea of attaching any importance to so trivial 
a matter! Suppose he has been in the yard; 
he ’s got impudence enough to go anywhere. 
Ella’s flowers are beautiful; I suppose they 
must have attracted 'him. Nothing else, of 
course,” soliloquized young Crawford. 


120 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


He crushed the offending letter in his 
hand, then opened it and read it again. 
“Nonsense,” he said, and tore it into frag- 
ments. 

He took a book and settled down to read ; 
but his thoughts wandered. “ What a fool I 
am!” was his mental ejaculation. “Ella is as 
true as steel.” 

Nevertheless he was glad that his vaca- 
tion was just at hand; his feeling of security 
had been disturbed, and he longed to reas- 
sure himself. 

Unluckily his first visit to Mrs. Bentley’s 
was not until after he had encountered Ralph 
Eaton, who, understanding how matters stood, 
added still more to his uneasiness by talking 
as if he and Ella were intimately acquainted. 
Consequently, Crawford met Ella with some 
degree of formality and reserve. She ob- 
served it, but could not divine the cause. 
This state of things continued for some time, 
until Ella felt hurt ; but she was too proud 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


12 I 


to ask for an explanation. Matters grew 
•worse until one evening, when Jim and Ella 
were out walking, they met young Crawford. 
They were about to pass with a formal bow, 
when Jim stopped and began to speak. 

“See here, Will, I think it is about time 
you and Ella both came to your senses. I 
think I understand how it is. There is some 
little mole-hill in the way that, for want of 
sweeping out of the way, is fast becoming a 
mountain. Now, Ella, you and Will walk to- 
gether, and make up, like sensible children.” 
Jim walked away, but turned presently and 
remarked, “ I shall call you both to an ac- 
count if you do not do as I have told 
you.” 

They laughed at Jim’s injunction, and 
walked slowly along, each feeling somewhat 
embarrassed. 

“ I suppose I must confess,” said Will, 
“that I do not like to have you so very 

friendly with Ralph Eaton.” 

16 


122 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 


“ I am not very friendly with him,” said 
Ella. “ I gave him some water once when he 
asked for it, and talked with him a few min- 
utes.” 

“ Have you never met him but once ?” 

“ I have met him twice. One morning, 
when I was transplanting flowers, he came 
into the yard uninvited. He talked a few 
moments, and went away. Since that time I 
have avoided him.” 

“ How that interfering friend of mine has 
misrepresented the matter! I am provoked 
at him — and still more with myself.” 

“ Why did you not speak to me about it, 
or did you prefer his word to mine ?” said 
Ella, with a slight frown on her pretty face. 

“I did not ask him, I assure you; nor did 
I want to hear anything from him. I am 
sorry I took any notice of what he said. I 
was ashamed to question you about it, but I 
might better have had the matter cleared up 
at once.” 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE . 


123 


“Yes; I think as much. I have more 
reason to feel injured through your lack of 
confidence in me, than you have for anything 
I have done.” 

“You are right, Ella; and it will be a 
long time before I again give credence to any 
rumors so far as to be unhappy over them. 
But perhaps you do not consider that what 
one values very highly he is pained at the 
thought of losing.” 

“ W ell, you need not fear Ralph Eaton as 
a rival. He might be good for something if 
he would let wine and stronger drink alone. 
I am sure I would never trust my happiness 
to any one who was not, in the strictest sense 
of the word, a temperate man. I think, when 
a young woman consents to marry a moder- 
ate drinker, she runs a tremendous risk.” 

“ I wish all young ladies felt as you do in 
regard to that. It would be a great check 
on intemperance. The truth is, they encour- 
age it, by not making a proper distinction be- 


1 2 4 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

tween those who drink and those who do 
not.” 

“That is what Jim says. He thinks, if 
the young ladies would form a league, and 
pledge themselves not to be seen in company 
with any intemperate young man, intemper- 
ance would be less general.” 

The rest of Will’s stay passed more pleas- 
antly, as our readers will readily believe. He 
had learned a lesson. Hereafter he would be 
less ready to listen to the voice of rumor; 
and he was convinced that the little difficul- 
ties and disturbances of life, real or imagin- 
ary, should at once be met and adjusted, as 
delay but increased the misunderstanding. 


JIM BENTLE YE RESOL VE. 


I2 S 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Brightly dawned the golden autumnal 
morning of Martha Slocum’s wedding day. 
The leaves, now many-tinted, trembled on 
the boughs, and glittered in the sunshine. 
A few bright flowers still adorned the gar- 
den, and the orchards were laden with their 
treasures of crimson and gold. 

All was quiet this morning on the farm 
of Deacon Slocum. No apples were being 
gathered, no cider pressed, no corn husked. 
No : for once, on a week-day, farm work was 
of secondary importance. 

But if there was a cessation of work with- 
out, within there were nimble feet and busy 
hands. Great preparations had been made. 
“ Priscilla, do n’t spare anything,” the deacon 
had said. “We’ve got but one daugh- 


>126 JIM BENTLE Y'S RE SOL VE. 

“No: I’m not the one to do that. No- 
body shall have the chance to say that we ’re 
stingy.” 

Martha herself had taken an active part 
in the preparations, and this morning she 
was plying between the kitchen and pantry, 
in a calico morning dress and white apron. 

“ Why do n’t you go and get ready, Mar- 
tha ?” asked her mother. 

“ I can get ready in a little while, mother, 
and I might as well help as long as I can, 
and be sensible, if I am to be married. You 
look tired yourself. Sit down and let me set 
the table.” 

“Now, did you ever!” said Mrs. Slocum; 
but she sat down and fanned herself with her 
apron. 

Eleven o’clock was the hour appointed 
for the ceremony ; and although it was only 
nine, Mrs. Slocum began to be uneasy' lest 
they should not be ready. When Martha 
had finished her work, she said, 



Page 127 





JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 127 

“ Mother, let me help you to dress now. 
The tables are all set, and things are going 
right in the kitchen” — for a woman had been 
hired for the occasion. 

“No, Martha, I don’t want to dress just 
yet. I do n’t want to leave this care to any- 
body, and I might get a spot on my brown 
silk. You go and dress yourself, child; I’ll 
dress soon, and I ’ll come up to have you set- 
tle the lace in my neck, for I might n’t get it 
just right, you know.” 

Martha went up to her room, where lay 
her pretty lilac silk, elegant laces, white kid 
gloves, and the beautiful watch and chain, 
the wedding gift of her indulgent father. 
She dressed without worry or excitement. 
Just as she had finished, her mother came in, 
and surveyed the bride with a great deal of 
admiration and love expressed in the pretty 
brown eyes that were like Martha’s own. 

At eleven o’clock precisely James Bent- 
ley and Martha Slocum were married. Af- 


128 JIM BENTLE Y'S RE SOL VE. 

ter the congratulations a sumptuous dinner 
was served. Then followed music and con- 
versation. At two o’clock the bride and 
groom entered the deacon’s best carriage to 
ride to the railway station, for they were to 
take a short wedding trip. 

With many kind wishes from the friends 
and guests, Martha and Jim drove away. 

In a week they returned. The deacon 
had wished that they should live with him, 
but Jim’s gardening had become quite lu- 
crative and he declined the offer, prefer- 
ring to be independent. The deacon was 
disappointed, but at the same time he ad- 
mired Jim’s spirit. 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 


129 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The years passed swiftly by, and changes 
came, for Time never fails to bring them. 
But at the home of the Bentleys there was 
no reason to complain of his work. Very 
gently had he touched the hair, cheek, and 
brow of the mother, who bore the chastened 
but peaceful look of one who, through vary- 
ing paths of trial and quiet happiness, has 
been led by a trusted though unseen hand to- 
wards a placid old age. 

Jim, meantime, had been approaching a 
worthier manhood. Stimulated by the ex- 
ample of Deacon Slocum, whom he loved 
and reverenced, he had given earnest thought 
and effort to the things that make character 
noble and useful, and, above all, to the One 
Character whom all should imitate. Becom- 
ing more and more sensible of his own short- 

17 


130 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

comings and weaknesses as he learned more 
of Christ, he was yet perseveringly striving 
after a closer walk with his Saviour, in the 
strength which the Holy Spirit was ever 
ready to supply. He was watchful to exert 
his influence in the cause of temperance, re- 
garding that as one of the things that decid- 
edly make for peace and edification. His 
mother had no occasion to complain of ne- 
glect from him, for although his wife and in- 
fant daughter occupied their proper place in 
his affections, his mother was not less loved. 
With him the channel of affection seemed to 
widen as new ties were formed. 

Martha had lost something of her girlish 
look, but in its place was a sort of mature 
beauty more pleasing than the well-rounded 
cheeks and girlish manner. 

Ella’s pretty face showed more character 
and thoughtfulness. She was now about to 
be married, and she asked and received ad- 
vice of Martha as of an older sister. She 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 13 1 

had taken Martha’s place in the Academy, 
and had retained it until now, bearing her 
share of the family expenses, particularly in 
furnishing her mother’s wardrobe. This 
pleased the deacon exceedingly, as it showed 
an unselfish disposition; but suspecting that 
she might have to calculate closely to pro- 
cure her outfit, he gave Martha fifty dollars 
to present to Ella in her own name. This 
was his old way, hiding behind his good 
deeds, willing that some one else should take 
the praise. 

Martha and Ella went to a larger town to 
do their shopping, while the mother remained 
with little Sadie. Martha was an adept at 
shopping. She managed to buy a beautiful 
light silk, and a rich, serviceable travelling 
dress, with the gift of her father. A black 
silk was bought at the same time. The la- 
dies returned well pleased with their pur- 
chases, and the mother’s admiration was 
equal to their anticipations. A dressmaker 


I 3 2 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

came, and cut and fitted the dresses, but the 
making was accomplished by the three ladies 
themselves. 

There was a feeling of sadness mingled 
with these preparations, for Ella was to leave 
home and go wherever Dr. Crawford should 
be able to secure a good practice. He was 
then practising in an adjoining town; but 
his success did not meet his wishes, and he 
feared he should be obliged to remove else- 
where. However, he determined to give the 
place a fair trial. Accordingly, he bought a 
horse, that he might be able to meet calls 
from the country. But somehow it happened 
that the horse’s head was too frequently 
turned towards the Bentley place. The doc- 
tor became aware of this himself. 

“ I see I shall have to take Ella with me, 
if I am to succeed,” he said. 

So it was decided that Ella’s wedding 
should take place sooner than had been an- 
ticipated. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE . 


x 33 

It was not without a slight pang that the 
mother gave her daughter to the keeping of 
another. The blank, untried future : who 
shall presume to fill up its unwritten pages, 
when human calculation is so often doomed 
to failure ? But the mother’s hopes were 
strong. Her daughter’s husband was a man 
of good habits based on Christian principles ; 
and these last she justly regarded as a strong 
safeguard. 

Dr. Crawford’s business soon began to 
improve ; people trusted him, for he was care- 
ful and conscientious; so in a year from his 
marriage he took a house and considered 
himself permanently settled. 


134 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

One evening, as Aunt Nannie and George 
Higgins were seated at the supper table, the 
conversation turned upon the future and its 
prospects. 

“ And is there no lass that you like above 
another, Geordie?” asked Aunt Nannie. 

George laughed, much amused, for the 
question was as strange as unexpected. 

“ Why, what makes you ask that, mo- 
ther ?” he said, for he was now her adopted son. 

“ Well, I do n’t see that you show any 
preference to any lady, and most young men 
do before they reach your age. I feel that 
my time is not long; and should it be longer 
than I think, it heartens a body a bit to have 
company. I would not be the one to make 
objections to a wife if you bring one. 

“ Well, Geordie, you do n’t answer,” said 


JIM BENTLEY'S RE SOL VE. 


J 35 


Aunt Nannie after a pause ; “ you need not 
think I do n’t mean it.” 

“ Well, mother,” he said, half laughing and 
half serious, “ there is only one girl I could 
feel a special interest in, and she is out of my 
reach.” 

“ Hoot, toot! Faint heart never won fair 
lady, you know. Is it so homely a place to 
bring a wife to that you think she would not 
come ? I have a bit put by ; some of it could 
be used to make the place look bonnier.” 

“ I did not mean that. I am not dissatis- 
fied with the place. It is good enough for 
me, and it would be good enough for mine. 
But, you know, father left us disgraced, and 
I have not been free from his weakness my- 
self ; though, thanks to you, I have not fallen 
many times.” 

“ Thanks be to Another, Geordie, who 
was pleased to use my influence for your 
good.” 

Aunt Nannie had a woman’s curiosity to 


i 3 6 JIM BENTLE Y'S RE SOL VE. 

know who George’s favorite was. But she 
was not likely to become possessed of his se- 
cret through his own confession, and she 
wisely forbore to question him on the subject. 

A few days after this conversation, Aunt 
Nannie was spending the afternoon at Mrs. 
Bentley’s, and Helen Crawford chanced to 
drop in for an hour. As was quite natural, 
Aunt Nannie found occasion to speak of 
George Higgins, whom she praised warmly, 
and finished by saying that he would make a 
good husband for some one. Helen colored 
and quickly changed the conversation. Aunt 
Nannie noticed the blush, and thought it 
quite possible that she had obtained the clew 
to the secret. 

That evening, as she sat with George, she 
told him of her visit, and of having seen 
Helen Crawford. 

“ And a bonny lass she is, with a sunny 
face, and a sunnier heart, I make no doubt,” 
she remarked. 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


*37 


George at once betrayed an interest. 

“ I am sure of it now,” thought she. 
“ Leave me alone for the rest of it.” 

Mrs. Dr. Crawford had always been a 
great favorite with the old lady, and had fre- 
quently spent the day with her. So, when 
Mrs. McDonald saw her again, she invited 
her to come and make a visit, and added, 
“ Bring Helen with you, for I am well pleased 
with the company of young folk.” Mrs. 
Crawford promised to come, and appointed a 
day. 

“Geordie,” said Aunt Nannie on the 
morning of the visit, “ cut the heads off two 
of those ducks. I am to have company to 
dinner. I will call you a bit early, and you ’ll 
have time to fix yourself up.” 

Long before the guests arrived, Aunt 
Nannie had completed her preparations. Ev- 
erything was in order, from the row of shi- 
ning pans, outside the door, to the loft, as she 
always called the garret. 

i3 


138 JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 

Many times did she go to the door and 
look out on the road, her face encircled by 
the border of her snowy cap, and her hand 
placed over her eyes to keep them from the 
bright sunlight. Her dress was of pretty 
plaid gingham, and her low shoes showed the 
home-made stockings with devices cleverly 
knitted in them. A silk kerchief, crossed on 
her bosom and confined by her belt, com- 
pleted her costume. 

Ella was delighted to spend another long, 
bright summer day with her dear old friend; 
and Helen seemed pleased too, but was less 
demonstrative. 

Towards night Dr. Crawford called for 
the ladies, as had been arranged. But, being 
in a hurry, he could scarcely take the time to 
drive out of his way to take his sister home. 

“So much the better,” thought the old 
lady, while she very composedly remarked, 
“ Geordie can harness up one of the beasties 
and take her home.” 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


J 39 


“ Thank you ; that will do, will it not, 
Helen ?” said the doctor. 

“ I suppose so, if it is not too much trou- 
ble.” 

“ He will not think it trouble to wait on 
a lady,” said Aunt Nannie. 

This being settled, the doctor drove off 
with his wife. George, being informed of the 
plan, set about getting ready, and in due time 
brought the buggy to the door, and helped 
Helen to her seat. 

“ Surely,” thought Aunt Nannie as they 
drove away, “she must be hard to please if 
she does not fancy my Geordie.” 

But it would appear that Helen was very 
well pleased, as the horse frequently carried 
his young master over the same road they 
travelled that night. 

Aunt Nannie took a lively interest in 
George’s courtship, and was well pleased 
when the marriage took place about a year 
from the time of the visit. 


140 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


Helen had grown very fond of the old 
lady. She had become accustomed to her 
quaint ways, and she knew that beneath the 
old-fashioned dress was as true a heart as 
ever beat in woman’s breast. She antici- 
pated many years of quiet enjoyment with 
her; but it was not so to be. Within a 
month from the time of the wedding Aunt 
Nannie died, after an illness of only a few 
days. 

Her neighbors heard of her sickness with 
sincere sorrow. The years she had spent 
among them had been so full of sweet con- 
tent, and so rich in good works, that she had 
drawn the hearts of all towards her. Even 
the little children were sad; — for had they 
not all felt the gentle pat on the head, and 
eaten of her seed cake, her apples, and her 
cherries ? 

She said but little during her illness. 
She had no care, apparently, but seemed oc- 
cupied with her thoughts. Occasionally a fit- 


JIM BENTLE YE RESOL VE. 


141 


ting passage of Scripture would be repeated 
slowly and with emphasis. When asked by 
Mrs. Bentley, who came daily to see her, 
whether she thought she would recover, she 
answered, “ No : I think my time has come. 
It is not a long journey; — one wee step in 
the darkness ; then comes light for ever. 
And friends- will meet me there, think of it — 
friends, long lost friends — father, mother, my 
own Geordie.” 

Then, as if talking to herself, she contin- 
ued, “ And who knows but, by the great 
mercy of the Lord, one other will be there ! 
Who knows! who knows! That would, in- 
deed, be perfect happiness, to be all gathered 
home; for Willie will be sure to come. Dear 
Willie, who has always been so good to me ! 
God bless and keep him and his.” 

At another time she said, “Jesus will be 
the chief attraction in heaven, and we shall 
be like him, for we shall see him as he is. 
Death lays the body low, but it cannot hold 


I 4 2 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

it so. When the resurrection morn shall 
come, the bands of death will be burst asun- 
der, and we shall rise with a glorified body- 
like unto our Master’s ; ay, we shall wake in 
his likeness. These hands and this tongue 
may turn to dust; yet shall I hold a golden 
harp and sing praises to the Lamb who has 
redeemed me, through all the ages of eter- 
nity.” 

When the sun rose on the last morning 
of her life, she said, “ Bonny is the sun’s ris- 
ing here; and bonny was his glinting from 
the hill-tops in my old home beyond the sea; 
but I may not see him long now. I am 
almost where they need not sun, nor moon, 
nor candle, for the Lamb is the light of that 
country.” 

About noon she asked, “ What o’clock is 
it ?” On being told, she remarked, “ By this 
time the morrow I may be where time shall 
no more be counted, but it shall be one ever- 
lasting morn.” 


JIM BENTLE YE RE SOL VE. 


M3 


She said no more. Just before the sun 
set, she passed away. “She sleeps in Jesus,” 
said Mrs. Bentley to the sorrowing brother, 
and to George and Helen, whose tears were 
silently falling. 

Like a flower that gently folds itself when 
night approaches, so softly, so peacefully fell 
Aunt Nannie’s eyelids, shutting out earth’s 
views for ever. 

“So quickly,” thought George, “does sor- 
row follow in the footsteps of joy ; so do light 
and shade mingle in this world of ours. Oh, 
may the trust that you had, my dear, true 
friend, be with me as I pass through life’s 
changes !” 

On examining Mrs. McDonald’s will, it 
was found that the farm had been left to 
George Higgins. But the money which she, 
through her economy, had laid by, together 
with all the articles which she had brought 
from Scotland, she left to her brother. 


144 


JIM BENTLEY’S RESOLVE. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The years we passed over in the last 
chapter have whitened the heads of several 
persons of whom we have been writing, Mr. 
and Mrs. Crawford, having given up their 
children to build other homes, lived comfort- 
ably on the moderate income that years of 
labor and economy had brought them. Mrs. 
Crawford looked scarcely past her prime, but 
Mr. Crawford, who was several years her 
senior, and whose early habits had not been 
without their effect on him, showed unmis- 
takable signs of age. But they enjoyed life, 
being at peace with God and man. 

It is not without regret that we come 
to take up another part of our story. A 
shadow hung over the home of Deacon 
Slocum. There was a noiseless tread of un- 
tiring feet, a midnight lamp, and the coming 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOLVE. 


J 45 


and going of anxious faces. The good dea- 
con was ill. His life hung in the balance. 
Hope at one time bore up his faithful Pris- 
cilla; then fear almost unnerved her hand as 
she bent over her husband to administer cor- 
dials, or adjust his pillow. 

Once when an unbidden tear from her eye 
fell on the deacon’s cheek, he looked up 
quickly, and with tenderness in look and 
tone he said, 

“Priscilla, are you crying? You ought 
to know that separations must come in this 
life. We have had a great many years of 
pleasant companionship. We have lived in 
such a way that we can have no regrets as to 
our conduct towards each other, and our sep- 
aration cannot be long. 

“I spoke to Jim last night about selling 
out and coming here after I am gone. He ’ll 
do it, I think, Priscilla; and they’ll be good 
to you, I know. I put off speaking to you 
as long as I could, because you do n’t feel 
19 


146 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

like giving me up. My will is made. It ’s 
all yours till you ’ve done with it. Then it 
will go to Martha — all but five hundred dol- 
lars that Harry is to have, and five hundred 
to the church. I wish that to the church 
could be paid soon, to wipe out the debt on 
it. I would like Harry to stay here as long 
as he wants to, if he and Jim can get along 
together. When the time comes that he 
wants to go and do for himself, give him his 
money. He has been a good boy, Harry has. 
Those Higgins boys have turned out well, 
and I am thankful for it.” 

The minister frequently called. He felt 
that the church was losing its strong sup- 
port ; the deacon’s death would leave a blank 
that would be hard to fill. 

“How are you this evening?” he said on 
entering the room a short time before the 
deacon’s death. 

“Very comfortable, both in body and 
mind, thank you.” 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


M7 

“Then the near prospect of death does 
not disturb you?” 

“ No more than if, when I was a boy and 
had been working all day in the field, my fa- 
ther had said at night, 4 That will do now, 
Jonathan; you may stop work and rest.’” 

The minister saw much in this homely 
simile. He said, 44 I think you have done 
your best, so far as human eye can see, to 
serve your generation in the field of the 
world, and I doubt not you have gathered 
many sheaves. But I thought you enjoyed 
life. I did not know you were weary.” 

“I trust I am not ‘weary in well-doing,’ 
or in trying to do well. And I did not mean 
to say that I would n’t have been willing to 
stay longer in the field if I had n’t been 
called in. I only meant to say that I would 
not be sorry when rest came. I take it, God 
gives his children grace to be willing to die 
or to live, as his dealings seem to indicate. 
We do n’t want dying grace to live by. 


1 48 JIM BEETLE Y 'S EE SOL VE. 

When we need it, it will come to us. When 
we are in the world and life is before us, we 
want to feel strong and willing to labor in 
the world and in the church. We do n’t 
want to be calculating all the time on dying. 
It is just as much a man’s duty to take up 
life’s burdens as cheerfully as he can, as it is 
his duty to go to prayer-meeting. It ’s no 
use for us to say, ‘ God is good,’ if we act as 
if he did n’t know best how to discipline his 
children, and go mourning all our days be- 
cause he has seen fit to afflict us in some 
way. Folks do n’t believe us when we say 
one thing and act another. 

“ But excuse me, brother. I got to think- 
ing so hard I forgot myself. It’s no ways 
likely I can edify you.” 

“ There is no need of an apology, Brother 
Slocum. I am sure I have received benefit 
from what you have said. It is not always 
the most learned who have the most correct 
ideas of religion. It is the education of the 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOLVE. 


149 


heart that gives true knowledge, for through 
the operation of the Holy Spirit the under- 
standing becomes enlightened. God often 
makes use of very humble instruments to 
glorify his name.” 

“That is so. Since I have been lying 
here sick, more than one person has said to 
me, ‘ Deacon Slocum, you first made me re- 
spect religion.’ I cannot see how, with all 
my shortcomings, I have recommended it, 
and I feel ashamed that I have not better de- 
served their praise. Thanks be to God for 
his unspeakable gift of a perfect cleansing 
and a perfect righteousness in Christ, and a 
perfect holiness, too, in heaven.” 

Deacon Slocum’s malady was cancer in 
the stomach. When he was free from pain, 
he loved to converse with his friends. Mar- 
tha often sat by her father’s bedside. She 
never wearied of his conversation. She had 
seen the time when his peculiar pronuncia- 
tion, and occasional ungrammatical expres- 


JIM BENTLEY'S R E SOLVE. 


* 5 ° 

sions, grated on her ear; but now every word 
was treasured in her memory. 

“ Martha, always remember the poor,’ 1 he 
said to her one day as she sat beside him. 
“God watches how the poor are dealt by; 
and you will never be the poorer for giving 
to them, for the Lord pays back all we lend 
him. Besides, one gets a great deal of happi- 
ness out of giving. The Saviour himself 
said it is more blessed to give than to receive. 
Your mother has tested that a good many 
times. And, Martha, there is no telling how 
much good it will do a person all his life to 
be helped a little at the right time. Many 
people have been discouraged and given up 
trying to get along because no one lent a 
helping hand. That is n’t right. It is n’t 
bearing one another’s burdens, and so fulfill- 
ing the law of Christ.” 

When talking with Jim one night, the 
deacon urged him always to help forward the 
cause of temperance, and to manifest the 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOLVE. 


151 

greatest kindness and forbearance towards 
those who were trying to overcome the habit 
of intemperance. 

“You know we are all debtors to the 
grace of God, and have nothing that we have 
not received ; so be patient with the weak 
and erring, Jim. We have all got faults, and 
we expect God to forgive them ; so let us for- 
give our fellow-mortals, though their faults 
may be different from ours. Your life has 
been useful already. Go on towards perfec- 
tion. Deal in good works and kind words; — 
they make no food for repentance.” 

To Harry, whose most prominent fault 
was impetuosity, he said, 

“ I hope you will turn out well, my boy. 
Do n’t make a failure of life for want of a lit- 
tle forethought. Never act on the spur of 
the moment, unless you are certain you are 
right. If your heart tells you to do a kind 
deed, you need not always stop to think; 
though even in doing a kindness ‘ wisdom is 


1 5 2 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

profitable to direct ’ about the best way to do 
it ; and then, too, what at first looks like gen- 
erosity sometimes turns out to be injustice. 
But if your temper tells you to return evil for 
evil, think long about it, and see if the teach- 
ing of the Bible would not be best; for you 
know it tells us to return good for evil. You 
have been with me a number of years, and 
it ’s no common interest I feel in you, Harry. 
You have been a very good boy, and a good 
boy generally makes a good man. But some- 
times when young men first start out in the 
world, they get led away and spoiled. There 
is one thing that would keep you safe, and 
that is the grace of God. I should rejoice if 
I could only know you had given your heart 
to God. It would be in safe keeping, Harry. 

“Then I would like you to promise me 
you never will drink strong drink. Jim re- 
solved he never would, long before he was as 
old as you are, and he never drinks a drop. 

I do n’t believe you do, either. But it might 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


*53 


be a good thing to promise me you never 
will. For doubtless you will be asked to 
drink, and you might think there is no harm 
in just one glass ; but, Harry, taking the first 
glass is bad business. But if you promise 
me, you would say to yourself, ‘ No : I prom- 
ised Deacon Slocum I would not,’ and that 
would keep you from falling into tempta- 
tion. 

“ I sha’ n’t have many more talks with 
you, and I do wish that I might say some- 
thing that would do you good. Keep 
straight, Harry. There ’ll be plenty of peo- 
ple to help you off the track, but few that 
would reach a hand to help you up again.” 

There was a choking in Harry’s throat, 
and tears in his eyes. 

“ I promise you,” he said, his voice choked 
with emotion, “ that I will be a temperance 
man. You have done more for me than my 
own father did, and I owe you a greater debt 

of gratitude. You have given me home and 
20 


154 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

education, and that which I prize still more, 
your friendship, and I will not refuse you 
what is in my power to grant. 

“ As to trying to serve God, I shall not 
hesitate longer. I have seen the beauty of 
religion exemplified in your consistent life. 
Pray for me that I may be brought out of 
the darkness and deadness of sin into the 
light of life.” 

“ The God of all grace bless you, and 
make you his own now and evermore,” was 
the benediction of the deacon. 

The disease made steady progress, and 
the good man’s life was fast drawing to a 
close. His heart was full of pity for his wife 
and daughter, who still clung fondly to him. 
But for himself he rejoiced that his race was 
run. 

As long as he lived he continued to ex- 
hort those who came to see him to follow in 
the footsteps of the Master. 

“To me,” he said, “death has no terror, 


JIM BENTLE YE RESOL VE. 155 

for Christ is with me, and he sustains me. 
4 Who shall separate us from the love of 
Christ ?’ 4 Neither death, . . . nor any 

other creature,’ ” he murmured faintly, a 
little later. 

Soon after uttering these exultant words 
he fell asleep in Jesus. 


1 56 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 


CHAPTER XX. 

As might be expected, the deacon’s death 
brought about some changes. Jim moved 
over to the deacon’s farm. Mrs. Bentley 
sold her place to Tom Higgins, who had laid 
up some money and wanted to change his 
business. He had married into a respecta- 
ble family, and was quite a useful man in the 
community. 

Harry remained at the Slocum farm. 
He and Jim were excellent friends and fellow- 
workers. They carried out as far as possible 
the deacon’s plans, and did their work in the 
same manner, much to the satisfaction of 
Mrs. Slocum. That any one could quite 
equal her husband in farming was with her 
a matter of extreme doubt. 

As the work gradually slipped into Mar- 
tha’s hands, the widow found more time 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 


*57 


to gratify the impulses of her kind heart. 
Where sickness was, there she w r as ; where 
want was, thither her feet hasted. Her 
presence often brought a twofold blessing, 
for she not only appeased the hunger of the 
body, but she often led the fainting soul to 
the Word of God, whence it derived spiritual 
food. 

As her head whitened with age, it did 
not seem wintry in its significance, but simply 
the token of a beautiful ripening for the 
garner of heaven. 

Mrs. Bentley spent part of her time with 
her son, and together the two aged ladies 
talked of the ways in which the Lord had 
led them. The interchange of their thoughts 
was beneficial to both, and far above that 
petty jealousy which so often affects persons 
similarly circumstanced. The mutual friend- 
ship heretofore felt was only deepened by a 
more intimate companionship. 

Mrs. Dr. Crawford claimed part of her 


1 58 JIM BENTLE Y'S RE SOL VE. 

mother’s society ; and thus while the silver 
threads were whitening Mrs. Bentley’s once 
brown hair, she divided her time between her 
loving children and grandchildren. She, too, 
was passing through a calm, peaceful old 
age ; “ at eventide it was light.” 

George Higgins was fondly attached to 
the home bequeathed to him by his dear old 
friend, his second mother. The remembrance 
of her piety and worth was ever with him. 
Helen was cheerful and industrious, and 
George thought the lines had fallen to him 
in pleasant places. 

Nelson Higgins, of whom we have said 
but little, Continued to live with Mr. Frazer. 
He had been faithful, and his faithfulness 
had been appreciated by his employer. 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 


*59 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Ralph Eaton seemed to be much at- 
tracted towards our little town and its vicin- 
ity; for after repeatedly visiting it during 
the summer, he at length returned to settle 
and practise law. People thought it strange, 
but they soon found that he was more of a 
sportsman than a lawyer. The woods and 
streams had more charms for him than law 
books or office; and he was not ambitious to 
make a name in his profession. 

Nor was this all. He frequented drink- 
ing-saloons — at first not those resorted to by 
common drunkards ; but the time soon comes 
to those who love strong drink when they 
are not particular where they find it. Shame 
yields in the unequal conflict with passion 
and soon those who have styled themselves 


160 JIM BENTLE YE RESOL VE. 

moderate drinkers come reeling from the 
lowest dram-shops. 

So it was with Ralph. Naturally defi- 
cient in moral force, he became still weaker 
in that respect through his social and sport- 
ing habits. Hints of his apparent failure 
reached the ears of his aunt and confirmed 
her own unspoken fears. She at once de- 
cided to visit her husband’s relatives, and 
see if her presence in town would not act as 
a restraint upon her nephew. 

Accordingly Aunt Clara came once more 
to Mrs. Slocum’s. She was received with a 
sufficient show of cordiality, though, if truth 
must be told, the family were not particularly 
glad to see her. They knew she had come 
from some selfish motive, and they waited 
till time should reveal it. Almost immedi- 
ately she inquired the way to lawyer Eaton’s 
office. Lawyer Eaton was not in. She left 
word to have him call at Mrs. Slocum’s. 
Ralph soon appeared, but it was plainly evi- 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 1 6 i 

dent that he was under the influence of liquor. 
His aunt was deeply mortified. He was 
very talkative, and every word deepened the 
blush of shame and vexation upon her face. 
At length she rose and walked towards the 
door. Martha followed her, for she had 
changed color and was now very pale. 

“What is the matter, Aunt Clara?” Mar- 
tha inquired. 

“ I feel faint,” said the poor woman, whose 
chagrin had actually made her ill. 

“ I feel sick too, Aunt Clara,” said Ralph, 
and started towards the door; but he lost 
his balance and fell. 

This was a terrible mortification for Mrs. 
Clara Slocum. Here was the man of whom 
she had boasted, degraded before the eyes of 
the one whom she had affected to despise. 
Without exerting herself to control the 
expression of her feelings, she began to sob 
violently. After a while Eaton became 
aware of his situation, excused himself, and 


21 


1 62 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

took leave. As he passed Harry, the latter 
heard him muttering something about “ old 
women staying at home and minding their 
own business.” 

The next morning, as Jim Bentley opened 
the Bible and read one of the beautiful Psalms 
of David, and then devoutly offered in prayer 
the thanksgiving and aspirations of his heart, 
Aunt Clara inwardly acknowledged his moral 
worth, and approved Martha’s choice. 

If our friend Martha was naughty 
enough to feel a slight gratification at the 
turn affairs had taken, she was too generous 
to nurse such a feeling. The knowledge 
that her aunt actually suffered, together with 
the remembrance that it is God who “ maketh 
us to differ,” led her to repel such thoughts 
as unbecoming a Christian. 

Aunt Clara now changed her entire plan. 
She asked Jim, as a very great favor, to try 
to watch over her “poor boy,” who, by the 
by, was not far from forty. Jim promised 


JIM BE NILE V’S RE SOL VE. i 63 

to do so when he could without seeming 
officious. This answer was not quite sat- 
isfactory to Aunt Clara, nor to Priscilla 
Slocum. The latter spoke her mind on the 
subject. 

“ Now, Jim, if you ’ll let me say so, that ’s 
what I would call a little too particular. 
Jonathan Slocum would never have stood 
about such nice points. He always tried to 
do his duty whether men would bear or for- 
bear. You just do and say what you ought 
to by this your fellow-mortal, and let God 
take care of the rest. Why, we a’ n’t more ’n 
half awake, any of us. Suppose we do get 
into heaven ourselves ; that ’s not enough. 
We want to feel that we ’ve helped others on 
in the good way. We want stars in the crowns 
of our rejoicing. We w r ant to hear, ‘Well 
done, thou good and faithful servant ;’ and I 
do n’t call it faithful to shirk duties because 
they’re unpleasant, or because we’re afraid 
some one wont like to have us do them. 


1 64 JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

“ Now, if I was you, I ’d keep an eye on 
Eaton, and I ’d tell him, as pleasantly as I 
could, that he’s spoiling himself. Nature 
has done a good deal for you, I ’d say. That ’ll 
break the ice, so he ’ll take something else 
from you ; for most people like a little praise, 
and if you can give it truly, it ’s good to 
encourage them. Then talk to him as if 
you really did care for him, soul and body. 
Folks always took it well of Jonathan, be- 
cause he felt what he said. He always did 
carry in his heart a burden for unsaved souls. 
And sometimes when he was pleading with 
any one, the tears would come into his eyes, 
and they could n’t stand it. Well, I suppose 
it was about as hard for him to speak to any 
one as it could be, for he never was a man to 
put himself forward. Ah, he was a good 
man ; Jonathan was a good man.” 

She covered her face with her hand, while 
the tears trickled through her fingers. Soon, 
however, she wiped them away, saying, “ I 


JIM BENTLE YE RE SOL VE. 1 65 

mustn’t spend my time weeping for him. 
I must work for my Master as he did, so 
that when my time comes to leave this world 
I shall join him in his rest.” 

Jim felt that his duty had been set before 
him, and he determined to overcome the 
reluctance he felt, and try to turn Ralph 
Eaton from his evil ways. 

But Ralph held aloof. Probably the 
remembrance of his last visit at James Bent- 
ley’s prevented him from accepting any of 
the invitations extended to him. He felt as 
people are very apt to feel when, through 
weakness, or from deliberate purpose, they 
leave the path of rectitude; their own con- 
sciences condemn them sufficiently, and 
they want no additional remonstrances from 
any one. Consequently, Jim was repulsed 
in every attempt to lead him into a friendly 
or confidential conversation. But finding 
one day an opportunity to speak to him, he 
said, 


1 66 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

“ I wish, Mr. Eaton, you would not keep 
yourself at such a distance from us, if only 
on your aunt’s account.” 

“ Oh, I do n’t want to have much to do with 
her. She is getting too preachy for me.” 

“Well, seriously, Mr. Eaton, has she not 
some cause to be apprehensive ?” 

“ That is none of your business,” said 
Eaton, firing up. “ She can take herself 
back to Boston, and you can keep out of my 
way.” 

Jim hesitated. “Perhaps I did not ap- 
proach you in the right way,” he said, “but I 
meant no harm. I would like to be your 
friend,” he added with more cordiality than 
might have been expected after Ralph’s 
rebuff. 

“ I do not want your friendship. My 
friends are of a different stamp.” 

“ Are you sure you have made a wise 
selection? Do your friends benefit you? 
Through their influence you are doing your- 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 167 

self great injustice. Nature has qualified 
you for a higher position than you are at 
present likely to attain.” 

“ What will your influence do for me, 
pray ?” said the other with a sneer. 

“ My influence is at least not on the side 
of wrong. And I was hoping to persuade 
you to attach yourself to the moral and reli- 
gious part of our community, who would be a 
benefit to you.” 

“Well,” said Eaton, who had been soft- 
ened a little by Jim’s mildness and perseve- 
rance, “you are right, perhaps; but there is 
time enough yet to think about being 
religious. I do n’t believe in rushing mat- 
ters.” 

Alas ! a short time proved that what 
was considered time enough was far too 
scanty. 

Late in the afternoon of a very warm day 
Jim Bentley started for the blacksmith’s shop, 
riding one horse and leading another. The 


1 68 JIM BENTLE Y’S RE SOL VE. 

work that required to be done occupied the 
time till very nearly dark. As he was about 
to start for home, the sky gathered blackness, 
the thunder muttered and rolled, the light- 
ning darted across his way, and heavy rain- 
drops fell fast upon him. He urged his 
horses forward, trusting almost entirely to 
their sagacity to keep the course. When he 
had nearly reached home, the horse he was 
leading suddenly stopped, snorted, and re- 
fused to go forward. A flash of lightning 
revealed the cause of the animals fright. 
Directly in front of him lay a man. Jim 
spoke to him, but received no answer. He 
turned the horses out of the way, to avoid 
trampling on him, and rode rapidly home. 
He lighted a lantern and, accompanied by 
Harry, returned to the spot. What was his 
horror to find that the man was Ralph Ea- 
ton ! Although stunned, and badly cut and 
bruised, he was still alive. 

Jim and Harry looked around to discover 


JIM BENTLE Y'S RE SOL VE. 1 69 

the cause of the accident, and found the frag- 
ments of a carriage scattered along the road. 
Down a by-lane stood a horse, panting, and 
covered with foam. He had been lashed into 
the speed that had so nearly proved fatal to 
his driver, and had freed himself from the un- 
merciful treatment. The animal was now 
perfectly quiet, and Harry led him to a tree 
and tied him. The two men then bore 
Eaton to their own house, and called a physi- 
cian. Ralph’s skull was found to be frac- 
tured, and he was otherwise badly injured. 

It was ascertained that he had taken a 
horse from the livery stable in the morning, 
and that, on leaving a village ten miles dis- 
tant, he was in a state of intoxication. It 
was supposed that he had driven so fast and 
so badly as to occasion the overturning of 
the carriage. It seemed to have struck a 
large stone at the side of the road, and 
Eaton had been thrown out, and badly 
bruised in the fall. 


22 


170 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOLVE. 


After a lingering illness he once more 
stood on his feet; but the light of reason had 
gone for ever. 

Years passed on. The gifted young law- 
yer was forgotten ; but in the almshouse the 
children for many years both teased and 
feared a ruined man known as “ foolish 
Ralph.” 


JIM BENTLEY'S EE SOLVE. 


* 7 * 


CHAPTER XXII. 

We come now to record the ending of a 
life differing widely from that of the good 
deacon. 

Turner, who had at one time been in pos- 
session of so much of his neighbors’ property, 
lost it all through the constant demands 
made upon it by his idle family. Even after 
he was almost beggared, they still wrung 
from him every ready penny, to put to a bad 
use. His limited means allowed him to buy 
only very bad whiskey, and that in small 
quantities. His bloated sons were always his 
most frequent customers. When he ven- 
tured to remonstrate with them, they poured 
forth a torrent of reproaches which he knew 
he too well merited. He writhed under his 
troubles, cursed his luck, cursed his sons, and 
cursed his Maker. 


172 


JIM BENTLE Y’S RESOL VE. 

He struggled hard to get on his feet 
again, as he expressed it. He stinted his 
food, wore the cast-off clothes of his prodigal 
sons, and deprived himself of sleep to lay 
plans for improving his condition ; but to no 
avail. 

At length he grew so covetous and des- 
perate that he robbed a man who took lodg- 
ings with him for a night. He was arrested 
and thrown into jail. Confinement had a 
most depressing effect upon the wretched 
man, and he was seized with a fever. In the 
delirium which followed, his ravings were so 
wild that the hardened inmates of the jail 
cowered in their cells at hearing them. At 
midnight, as at midday, he uttered the same 
demoniac mutterings, yells, and oaths, or 
broke forth in the hollow laugh of the ma- 
niac. Or if his utterances grew at all cohe- 
rent, he was heard to defy the power of 
heaven and of hell, or to plead with some of 
the many whom he had ruined, soul and body, 


JIM BENTLE Y’S EES 01 VE. 1 73 

not to give evidence against him at the bar 
of God. 

At last the fever left him; but there were 
no rallying powers. His own testimony was 
given respecting himself, as reason bright- 
ened for a moment : “ I bartered my soul for 
money, and lost both. I can almost feel the 
everlasting flames that are soon to fasten 
upon me.” 

These were his last intelligible words. 

With the rehearsal of this dreadful life 
and death we close our story. Let all who 
traffic in intoxicating liquors remember that 
they are the slayers of both the bodies and 
souls of men. If any of our readers think 
the picture overdrawn, let them candidly an- 
swer this question: Can any one portray 
the remorse and misery of that soul that feels 
that it is lost for ever? 

We cannot be too earnest in seeking to 
arrest the evils that are daily recurring. So 
long as intoxicating liquor is dealt out as a 


i 7 4 JLM BENTLE Y'S RESOL VE. 

beverage, so long will wives and children suf- 
fer. And just so long, too, will there be new- 
made drunkards’ graves. 

One poor inebriate steps suddenly out of 
this world into the next; we scarcely give the 
occurrence a thought. We see another stag- 
gering through our streets, going the same 
way; yet he receives no word of admonition 
or remonstrance from us. We pass on the 
other side, as if shunning pollution, and that 
soul for whom Christ died we think not 
worth an effort of ours to save. Oh, are we 
not, in a slight degree at least, our brother’s 
keeper? and are we not, as Christians, to be 
harvesters in the field of the world? But will 
not some of us come up empty-handed before 
God, or with only an ear or two gleaned here 
and there at long intervals in our selfish 
lives ? 

Oh, you who have time and influence, on 
you, more than on others, rests the blood of 
souls. But let no one hide behind a breast- 


JIM BENTLEY'S RESOLVE. 


*75 


work of excuses, for all have work to do. 
This thought has led me to write this story. 
I would now send it out into the world, and 
by what I have endeavored to picture — the 
happiness and prosperity of the temperate 
and God-fearing, the remorse of the guilty, 
the sufferings of the innocent who are the 
victims of unhappy connections, and the an- 
ticipated terrors of the judgment to come — 
I hope to turn at least one erring soul from 
the road that leads to eternal death to the 
path that leads to eternal life. 



















































































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